Entwined by Misfortune
by T1meslayer
Summary: Two star-crossed souls, each obsessed with the trappings of death and turmoil, meet at the illustrious Officers Academy. It will take one another to help draw them from the dark pits they are simultaneously falling into. A Fire Emblem: Three Houses story with uploads every other Friday. Rated 'M' for things related to war, and at least the implication of heavy romance and smut.
1. Prelude to Azure Moon (An Author's Note)

**Prelude to Azure Moon**

* * *

So.

After 75 long hours divvied up over a few months, I have finally completed my first complete run of Fire Emblem: Three Houses. It's an absolutely delightful game with excellent aesthetics, wonderful strategy warfare gameplay on a mobile platform, delightful characters brought to life by verbose performances from a number of voice actors and an engaging story full of political intrigue.

And I've only completed the Blue Lions route. #BlueLions4Lyfe

But with that said, I do have one major problem with the game…

Its support system is dreadful.

As someone who is entirely too invested in the shipping and relationship-building side of video games, it was incredibly disheartening to find Intelligent Systems go for something that takes away a player's agency in the final moments.

The ludonarrative dissonance of seeing characters that spent all their time together wind up with completely random pairings across endgame flavor text because of choices made by the CPU is palpable. Outside of my pairing with Byleth, no other character wound up in a pairing I was aiming for.

Having support problems kind of reminds me of my turmoil with Scarlet in Fire Emblem: Fates, come to think of it. But that's a story for another day.

Obviously, this ordeal left a bad taste in my mouth. They should have either gone the route of traditional Fire Emblem games with canonical pairings, or a relaxed system reminiscent of the 3DS-era games where players could choose who they wanted to pair. Not some Frankenstein amalgamation of the two.

But I digress.

I've been planning to do a Three Houses fanfiction (or two… or three…) for some time now. Other life commitments kept me away from it. But now that those are in the past and I have a raging fire stoked in my soul, it seems like the perfect time to begin.

My first idea is a long-running story that recreates and somewhat reimagines the entirety of the Blue Lions story utilizing my own headcanons for different events and character pairings. Particularly focused on the budding relationship between Dimitri and Marianne, because it's one of my absolute favorites in the game and I got robbed.

There may be other one-off fanfics published on the side, but this piece will be dedicated to a Blue Lions route retold.

I already have the vast majority of the story planned out, down to the structure of each chapter. I'm essentially going to go month-by-month, only sometimes slowing down or jumping ahead. Each chapter will begin with a sort of recap in the style of Jeralt's painting narrations that will either catch readers up on how the story has progressed since the last month, or provide some insight into the game's lore that is in some way relevant to the preceding events.

The actual story will typically play out from the perspectives of Dimitri, Marianne, Byleth or some combination of the three. Other characters will appear and play prominent roles of course, but the Boar Prince's love life will be center stage.

The other important detail worth noting is that you may see certain character mannerisms or general plot points taken from other stories in the Fire Emblem tag.

I've had a wonderful time staving off my desire for more and more Three Houses content while on my brief hiatus from playing the game through stories on this site. Stories from fellow Blue Lions such as SousChefSean's "Lion's Pride" (ID: 12570713), gallaghergirl09's "Cerulean Skies" (ID: 4432237), Lady StarFlower's "my love, tonight we live" (ID: 6390972), queenofowls' "A Single Regret" (ID: 12682818) and most recently Gigglecake's "Their Routine" (ID: 4292559); general character studies such as WaggleDaggers' "Blisters" (ID: 4922021) or ShadowBlade4444's "Our Professor" (ID: 5244981); and a veritable tome of a Felix and Annette story by KayMoon24 (ID: 1917642) called "Baby, Pull Me (Closer)" which is gone from here but still exists on Archive of Our Own.

If I wind up finding any more stories I particularly enjoy that play a role in how I write this story, I'll be sure to credit them.

But that's enough rambling for one prelude.

I'd like to post a chapter of this every Friday so it can coexist alongside my ongoing Pokémon fanfic, though it won't last nearly as long.

Astute observers will see that means the true opening chapter will be up tomorrow! Unless you're reading this in the future, in which case just hit 'next chapter.'

I simply wanted to get out this behind-the-scenes exposition dump in one fell swoop so you would all know the mindset I'm coming from.

As always, if you have any questions or suggestions, please feel free to tell me about them! I'm hoping to make whatever I write the best it can be, and there's no telling how much good an active community around the story could do if it gains traction.

Thanks for sticking with me this far! Hope you enjoy the tale.

* * *

Featured Image courtesy of McLeod via Wikimedia Commons. Links cannot be posted within this text, so ask if you wish to see any.


	2. Swords, Lances, Axes

**Part 1**

**Great Tree Moon**

_It is the year 1180. The Officers Academy, a prestigious university run by the Church of Seiros in Garreg Mach Monastery at the center of Fódlan, promises to have the most important year it has seen in some time. _

_Among the students enrolled are Edelgard, heir to the Adrestian Empire; Dimitri, crown prince of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus; and Claude, future leader of the Leicester Alliance. The three noble lords meet Jeralt and his enigmatic son Byleth while fighting brigands near Remire Village on the way to Garreg Mach. Jeralt was a captain of the Knights of Seiros, the church's military branch, until he went missing some years ago. When brought back to the monastery, Archbishop Rhea reappoints Jeralt and offers Byleth the opportunity to teach one of the Officers Academy's three houses._

_Intrigued by the darkness seemingly lurking beneath Dimitri's protective chivalry, Byleth elects to lead the Blue Lions and its cohort of students from Faerghus._

* * *

The chattering buzz of a few dozen teenagers sitting around an empty classroom begins to settle when the doors to the Blue Lions classroom slowly open with a whining creak. Countless eyes look back to see three figures silhouetted by the warm, alluring light of spring now pouring in from outside.

As they moved into the more rustic and calm ambient light of the classroom, each became more defined.

In the middle, a few paces ahead of the others, was an administrator nearly everyone recognized as Seteth: Archbishop Rhea's right hand man. His unwavering glance toward the front of the room and purposeful gait; with arms folded behind the cape of his gold-trimmed, dark blue uniform; emanated the kind of serious academic tone he was well known for quashing any and all degrees of fun underneath.

Unlike the boy just behind him to the left, whom everyone in this particular class immediately knew to be the house leader. Dimitri took the opportunity to offer reserved waves and nods to various classmates around the room. His black armor slowly clunked behind Seteth, but just ahead of the loose blue cape around his left shoulder. All around came both the swoons of those entranced by his well-kept hair and icy blue eyes, as well as those intimidated by his noble presence.

Yet most of the room's attention was drawn to the mysterious man walking alongside Dimitri, whose green hair was dark like pond scum compared to the grassy knoll of Seteth's hair, beard and eyes. The man returned glances all across the room, but did not offer frivolous niceties like Dimitri. His face was stone, cold and calculating.

All three settle in front of a podium and turn toward the band of students, with the mysterious man and Seteth having swapped places so the administrator could stand closest to an empty chalkboard.

There's a somewhat awkward moment of silence that follows.

Under the intense gazes of the three authority figures, students begin to shuffle about on the benches. A few turn to one another and mumble theories about what was happening.

Then, as though he were waiting for the perfect moment, Seteth immediate shuts down the burgeoning noise by harshly cracking a pointer stick against the chalkboard.

"Do be respectful," he says, commanding absolute attention.

"Welcome to the Officers Academy. Your home for the next year." He curls both arms behind his back again. "As always, we of the Church of Seiros are quite happy to host a fine young crop of future leaders. And to those of you who are legacy students, not to worry. We will not be judging you by the sins of your forefathers."

Seteth's gaze connects directly with Felix, a raven-haired boy sitting at the far end of the second row of desks in the left column.

The boy scoffs, rolls his eyes and looks at the fireplace beside him. Clearly he wanted nothing to do with that conversation, and a few students chuckled at his reaction.

"Well we are overjoyed at the opportunity to study here, Seteth." Dimitri comes into the conversation, clearly intending to draw the heat off of Felix.

The tactic works. Seteth's attention is pulled back to the duo beside him.

"Yes. Good, I'm glad to hear it."

His serious expression breaks into a smile before turning back to the forcibly captivated crowd.

"On the subject of studying, I would like to introduce you to the man who will be indispensible for all in the Blue Lions house." He makes a sweeping gesture toward the mysterious man. "This is Byleth Eisner. He will be your primary professor this year, responsible for all manner of combat training, leadership study and interpersonal advice."

Once again, the buzz of idle conversation starts up all across the room. A few words are just loud enough to break out of the incomprehensible drone.

"Byleth? What a strange name."

"He's so young! How could he be our professor?"

"I hear he saved the lords of all three nations from bandits."

"Oh yeah? Well I hear that name goes by the moniker '_Ashen Demon_' in some circles."

Seteth silences the room again by cracking his stick against the chalkboard.

"I shall leave you all to be acquainted to your professor. I… Unfortunately do not have nearly as much to tell of his backstory as I would have for Professors Manuela or Hanneman." The administrator sneers at Byleth when he says that, but only receives that empty stare in return.

"Just remember. After today's inaugural lesson, you will be meeting with members of the Black Eagles and Golden Deer houses in the courtyard outside of your classrooms," he says with a nod back to the students. "We would like to encourage bonding with those of nationalities you may not be so accustomed to. A wide array of experiences makes for a more well-rounded statesman, after all."

Without another word, Seteth makes his way out of the classroom.

It took a moment for him to get totally out of earshot, as evidenced by the sounds of a much more rancorous Golden Deer classroom nearby going silent.

"I do agree it would be appropriate to learn a bit more about you, Professor Eisner." Dimitri offers a slight smile with his remark. "Whatever you would care to tell."

Byleth closes his eyes and shakes his head.

"… Byleth is fine, or simply 'Professor' if you prefer. No need to refer to me like my father."

Dimitri mutters an apologetic 'of course' before slipping away from the front so he can sit in an empty seat at the front-right desk, just before the chalkboard.

There he was joined by his mountainous vassal Dedue Molinaro, as well as the petite form of one Annette Fantine Dominic — who seemed more than eager to start learning. Those two were about as mismatched as it came sitting beside one another in height, demeanor and skin tone.

In fact, Dedue seemed to be the only person there with a darker complexion that suggested his origins from the foreign land of Duscur.

Just across from those three at the front-left desk were the befreckled young Ashe Ubert and the focused Ingrid Brandl Galatea, whose long blonde hair was bright enough to match even the prince.

Behind them was Felix Hugo Fraldarius, still attempting to lean away from all human interaction despite the insistence of his fiery redheaded compatriot Sylvain Jose Gautier.

Though to be fair, Sylvain only seemed to be insisting Felix take a look at the cute girl who took an aisle seat beside them.

On the other side of that aisle, behind Annette, was one Mercedes von Martritz. Her radiant smile seemingly encouraged Byleth to be more open to this strange new situation, despite not knowing anything about her.

Then there were a dozen or so other students to account for… But frankly, something about them felt less than tertiary.

Byleth clears his throat and looks down at the floor to begin.

"I am a mercenary by trade. With that background I bring what I hope to be a wealth of knowledge on any sort of tactical situation you may wish to know about."

There's a long pause as he looks across the room, gauging the reactions of his students. They ranged from intrigued to confused.

"I would also consider myself to be fairly observant, as a result of that training. So if there are any of those 'interpersonal concerns' you wish to approach me about, I would be happy to try and address them."

His expression suggested being less than 'happy,' yet it was still the same as ever.

"Beyond that, I'm a quiet man. I would not expect too much when we are not in lectures. Understand?"

Various nods and quiet affirmations answer his question.

"Great." Byleth gives a deep bow before turning to walk behind the podium, where he snatches a wooden sword, lance and axe off the back wall. "Then I believe we shall begin by discussing the merits of different physical tools of war."

As he lays out the weapons on his podium, Dimitri subtly interrupts by clearing his throat.

"Before that, I think it would be wise to discuss the upcoming mock battle."

Byleth stares for a moment before agreeing.

"At the end of this month, we will be competing against the other houses in a rudimentary match. Four of you will be invited to join me on the battlefield. I will hear out volunteers, but my choice will not be dependent on enthusiasm alone. Potential prowess and team composition are my chief concerns."

The first to respond is Dedue, who rests his hands on the table to lift himself up. Now he truly towered over everyone else.

"If His Highness will be on the front lines, expect me to be there as well."

Felix scoffs from the other side of the room. Byleth turns his attention there.

"If you think you'll get any more traction out of a lapdog from Duscur than you will from me, you would be mistaken. I have the strength to cut down anyone on the battlefield… Just wait and see."

"Sheesh. Three minutes in and you're already at someone's throat," Sylvain muses with a laugh. "This is going to be a long year, Felix."

"I don't need your _lip_ Sylvain." The boy spits back with venom in his voice.

While brushing some of the long, dirty blonde hair out of her face, Mercedes clears her throat.

"I do agree it's silly to be fighting. We were all brought together by the grace of the Goddess, so we should be friends. Right?" She is soft-spoken, with perhaps a twinge of naivety to her voice.

Yet her presence and sentiment alone are sweet enough to calm the aggressive beasts back into their respective corners.

Byleth offers her a slight nod of appreciation.

"As I said, the decision will be mine and mine alone."

That seemed to be the end of that, as soon after Byleth picks up one of the wooden weapons off his podium.

"Now. For those of you who have been living under a gilded rock your whole lives… This is a sword."


	3. Fraternizing on the Field

**Part 1 — Great Tree Moon**

_Over 1,000 years ago, the continent of Fódlan was ravaged by strife as the burgeoning Adrestian Empire — whose founding marked the beginning of our modern times — attempted to unite all under its capital in Enbarr, where the great Saint Seiros first performed the Goddess' miracles. Yet even when Seiros defeated Nemesis, the King of Liberation, centuries to follow were all but quiet. Adrestian land was divided into the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus to the north, and later the Leicester Alliance to the east._

_It would not be until the Adrestian Empire approached its first millennium of existence that the three nations united once more to stop powerful invaders from the eastern land of Almyra. Soon after, the Church of Seiros helped establish the Officers Academy to train leaders from across the continent in case of future invasions._

_Some say the decision to establish the Officers Academy was two-fold; as it is much more difficult to start a war with those whom you have forged bonds and shared a diverse wealth of experiences._

* * *

For what was expected to be a rather dry first lesson, Byleth immediately endeared himself to the Blue Lions as a professor with a unique teaching style — Even if many were still on the fence about him as a guardian and ally.

The students had expected a run-of-the-mill discussion of the sword, lance and axe that told them everything about their triangular rock-paper-scissors advantages which had been hammered in since their youth.

Instead Byleth's discussion bordered on waxing poetic as he described each tool as an extension of their user; as finely-crafted instruments that could, in fact, transcend any sort of traditional thought about 'inherent' strengths and weaknesses. He said less capable soldiers clung to those perceived advantages as a way of digging their own niche in a faceless army. However, a sword could just as easily cut through the arm of a halberdier as a battle-axe.

Everyone was so invested in the lecture that it came as a surprise when the monastery bell rang to signal the end of this period.

It was a simple and calming five-note ring. Some might even say nostalgic.

**Dum… Dum dun dun… Dom…**

Within moments of hearing it, the room was awash with clatter as students gathered up their things and moved for the exit. There was a horde of energy in the idle conversations and laughs shared among classmates as they pushed into the rejuvenating sunshine and joined the coalescing crowds also coming from the two surrounding classes. From the outside looking in, Golden Deer students came from the left and Black Eagles from the right.

Dimitri and Dedue were the last to leave the Blue Lions classroom, as their idle chatter was somewhat graver.

"Really Dedue, I will be quite alright on my own." The Prince rests his hand on Dedue's shoulder. "Please, mingle among our classmates. You deserve to get to know our allies just as much as I do."

Dedue is silent and contemplative hearing that, and eventually relents.

"I suppose you are right. But I will be watching in case anyone presents a danger to His Highness."

The large man lumbers away, off toward an archway pillar in front of the Black Eagles classroom from which he could see the entire field. Along the way he passes by Byleth, Manuela and Hanneman near a bulletin board on the wall. Those two veteran professors surrounded their new faculty member, eager to discuss lesson plans and personal details alike.

Dimitri sighs as he watches Dedue go, mumbling something to himself about his friend's overreliance on being nearby. It wasn't like Dimitri was particularly surprised by his attachment, but he did hope Dedue would make friends at the Officers Academy.

That said the Prince begins to scan across the courtyard from his position in the Blue Lions' doorway.

Of his house allies, he could easily pick out a few from the crowd. Annette and Mercedes were attached at the hip while talking with a Black Eagles girl in a black cap. One he did not recognize immediately. Felix, the loner that he was, was leaning up against a pillar on the way toward the dining hall.

Dimitri attempts to offer him a courteous wave, but Felix sneers in return.

He took it in stride and kept looking around. Claude was off in the grass chatting with a pair of girls, one who had a pair of pink ponytails and the other a mess of white hair that rivaled even Edelgard. Speaking of, he noticed her in the shadows of an overhang, seemingly conspiring with a tall man whose wavy black hair covered half of his wicked expression.

Hubert, he immediately recognized. Edelgard's vassal.

In trying to drift his gaze away from the future Emperor, Dimitri lands upon a lone girl trying to blend in with one of the courtyard's trimmed hedges. She was not doing a particularly good job of it despite her reserved stance, as her cool blue hair stood out far more than even Caspar's similar turquoise locks.

Something about her weary expression immediately drew Dimitri in. It seemed strange for such a lovely young woman to be isolating herself the way she was.

Naturally, he approached.

"Afternoon," he says simply. Even that causes the girl to yelp as she nearly jumped out of her skin before turning her brown, dark-ringed eyes his way.

"My apologies," he continues with a slight bow. "I did not mean to startle you."

"It's… Fine." She gets the last bit out hurriedly before looking away again.

Clearly she was not the most sociable person in the group. Dimitri would have to pick up a bit more of the slack.

"I couldn't help but notice you standing off on your own. Is everything okay?"

She nods.

"Yes."

The Prince can't help but let out a brief laugh at her insistent, to-the-point tone. It reminded him quite a bit of Dedue.

"Well I'm happy to hear it." He offers her a hand, which she hesitates to take. "If I'm not mistaken, you must be Marianne von Edmund. Is that right?"

The girl's eyes widen, though they are somewhat covered by the bangs hanging over her face. She immediately believed this interaction was a mistake. He knew who she was, but she could not begin to place who he might have been.

"I… Y-Yes. How did you…?"

"I have been well-acquainted with the study of nobility all across Fódlan since I was young, both the lords and their children. It comes with the territory."

Marianne swallows back some of her nerves and nods.

"I see," she manages to get out while tentatively taking his still outstretched hand. "Just who are you, then…?"

"Ah, right." Dimitri lets out another brief laugh. He wasn't used to not being recognized, but it was rare he talked to anyone from the Alliance. "I am Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. It's a pleasure to meet you, Marianne."

Suddenly, Marianne's entire body tenses up, and her eyes widen like saucers again. Her hand instinctively clutches tight around his, as though she forgot how to let go.

"As in… Heir to the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus…?"

"The very same," he says.

The girl immediately pulls her hand away like he were a hot stove and tries to back away, but finds herself cornered by the hedge. Her head starts to rapidly shake, much to Dimitri's confusion.

"You… You really don't want to be around me, Prince."

He tilts his head and gives her an assuring smile. "Dimitri is fine, honestly. What makes you say that?"

"I'm… Bad luck to be around." She looks at her feet, voice meek and shuttering. "It would do you no good to die simply because you chose the wrong company…"

Rather than being turned off, Dimitri's curiosity piques as he hears her unique brand of self-deprecation. He begins to rub his chin with one hand thoughtfully.

And then he smiles.

"You're an interesting beast, Marianne."

The girl yelps again and can't control her shaking hands as they clasp before her bosom.

"W-Why would you say that?!" She asks in a suddenly panicked tone.

Dimitri is taken aback by her sudden energy and holds up both hands.

"Whoa now. It's simply a figure of speech, I promise. I assure you there was no intent to offend, if it came across that way."

It takes Marianne a moment to get down of the edge, but soon she was trying to hide in her hair again. This time it was slightly harder, as her cheeks ran red. Suddenly Marianne began to realize that for her to freak out like that in front of the Prince? How was she ever to regain any sort of clout?

"I… Sorry…" She mumbles.

He shakes his head.

"There's nothing to apologize for, Marianne. I simply should have been more up-front." He crosses his arms over his chest. "I think we have a good deal in common, you and I."

"Huh…?"

"I, too, tend to be rather bad luck for those who choose my company."

She stares blankly at him, blinking as she tried to comprehend exactly what he was saying.

"But… You are a prince, are you not? How could you be any bad luck?"

"Well, let's just say that one's noble status does not necessarily protect them from the ires of fate. It's actually something I've thought about quite a lot."

For the first time, seemingly all day, Marianne cracks a soft smile.

"I do too…"

"Ah!" Dimitri grins seeing her expression lighten. "I suppose perhaps you might be able to offer some insight I have yet to glean on the subject, then. We should find the time to—"

He stops halfway through a thought, noticing Dedue off in the distance trying to desperately wave him over. The boy bites his lip before looking back at her.

"… Another time, though. It appears I'm being summoned."

"Of course." Marianne remarks, somewhat more confident than before.

"I look forward to it, Marianne." He holds out a hand again, which she gingerly accepts.

"Likewise."

With one last bow, Dimitri heads off.

Marianne watches Dimitri's cape flutter in the wind as he confidently strode toward his mountain of a vassal, leaving small indents in the grass with each step of his heavy boots. She felt frozen in place, bangs once again shadowing her eyes as her arms loosely crossed over her stomach like a limp marionette.

That couldn't have been real.

She thought over every brief interaction from the day so far and none had gone nearly as well. Sylvain's introduction was almost sleazy, filled with sugarcoated niceties that he echoed to Lysithea moments later. Raphael seemed kind, but managed to pivot their brief discussion back to food four times in the span of two minutes. Two minutes that felt like an eternity to the soft-spoken girl.

Claude was arguably the most genuine when he first came to meet her while the members of the Leicester Alliance were unpacking their things before class… But some part of her couldn't shake that it was simply the formality of being their de facto leader. Nothing more.

Why else would he bother spending time with a girl like her?

But Dimitri? He had genuinely engaged with something she took no pride in sharing with the world. Talking to him was… Natural. And he was the prince of the Kingdom! He was arguably the second most prominent political figure in their class behind Edelgard.

Just imagining she might have someone to talk to regarding such matters barely curled the left edge of her lips into a smirk — if not a smile.

However, the smile faded as she became more aware of the gaze bearing down on her back of her neck. Her hair stood as she heard the grass rustle from whoever was approaching.

"You shouldn't bother with him."

She looked toward the voice and found Felix standing beside her. His right arm bent into his hip while the other hung free, and his fiery orange eyes were locked onto Dimitri's cape.

"E-Excuse me?" Marianne mumbles, leaning away. Felix was right up there with Hubert in the 'intimidating as hell' category of her classmates.

Yet he'd chosen to speak to her. So she would have to frown and bear it.

"The boar prince," he continues. With a sharp, sudden flex, Marianne was now the sole recipient of his icy gaze. A few loose strands of black hair fell to cover his face, but he gently threw his head back to clear them away.

"You'd do best to stay away from him."

The blue-haired girl swallows back a lump in her throat and takes a deep breath through her nose.

"W-Well… If I might be so bold… What does it matter to you who I fraternize with?"

Felix smirks, seemingly happy to have grabbed her interest so readily.

"It has nothing to do with me. I'm simply trying to save you the trouble."

He shifts his weight onto his left foot and brings both arms up, holding the left across his chest like a shelf that the right arm rests on. That way he can start gesturing his hand to animate his speech.

"I saw the brief flash of affection in his eyes as you two spoke. The kind of emotion he nary shows a soul." His eyes squint. "You two must have something in common. Be it a hidden, insatiable bloodlust or what have you."

"What are you…?"

"I really don't care what it is."

Felix scans her form, seeing the way she immediately shut down when he interrupted her train of thought.

"All I know is that any shred of affection he doles out today will inevitably come back to haunt you. You are from the Alliance, yes?"

Marianne nods, eyes cast down at Felix's feet.

"A meek girl like you? As soon as relations run cold between our people, he won't hesitate to snuff you out. That affection will rain down as daggers a thousand-fold once you're his enemy, because you'll be the first target his beastly mind will hasten to remember."

Felix pauses. His arms fall to his sides and he watches as Marianne folds her hands at her waist, and then mindlessly tugs on her left index finger as if to snap it off.

"Understand?"

Marianne struggles to swallow back another hard lump in her throat, but once she does her breathing evens out.

"Perhaps that would not be so bad," she mutters, dejected. "A quick death would be bliss for one as useless as I, should our nations come to blows."

Felix's sharp gaze softens to curiosity as he mulls over that sentiment.

"Tsk…" He clicks his tongue and looks the complete other way, slipping his hands into the pockets of his uniform.

"Suit yourself. Just don't come crying to me when you're impaled on the tusks of a rabid boar."

As he turns and walks in the direction of the dining hall, cool stride barely perturbed even by a prodding hello from Annette, Marianne slinks back into the shade of a trimmed hedge.

Here she believed she might have made an acquaintance — if not a friend in some far-flung reality… Only to have that belief nauseatingly thrust in her face like weeks-old custard. How could she have been such a fool? Of course her damned Crest would turn even the slightest glimmer of hope into misery.

It's not like she deserved any better. This was shaping up to be a long year.

* * *

_**Apologies for the extra late upload today, it took me a while to get this chapter through my editor. A good chunk of this chapter was actually written weeks ago as stress relief when I was busy with other work, and it's essentially the genesis of the story as a whole. That made it pretty special to me so I wanted to make sure it reads as well as possible.**_

_**Side note: I didn't account for how the chapter select slider was going to effect the spacing of my month indicator at the top of each chapter. Don't mind me trying to mess with how it gets laid out for a bit!**_


	4. A Sign from the Goddess

**Part 1 — ****Harpstring Moon**

_After a few weeks of idle study where the Officers Academy's students and faculty grew used to one another's presence, the Great Tree Moon was punctuated by a mock battle between the Black Eagles, Blue Lions and Golden Deer._

_Byleth proved himself to be both a capable professor and military commander in the eyes of all through a swift and decisive victory utilizing the diverse talents of Dimitri, Dedue, Felix and Annette: A lance, an axe, a sword and magic. _

_The cornerstones of any great army._

_Soon after their victory, Byleth's house was assigned their mission for the Harpstring Moon. Each month would bring a new task from Archbishop Rhea for the students residing in Garreg Mach to complete as a means of giving back to the community. Because of how handily the Blue Lions won their mock battle, she deemed them capable of completing the most difficult of her three missions. _

_They were to assist in routing bandits from Zanado, the Red Canyon._

_The coming weeks would have Byleth mulling over how to keep his fresh-faced students protected against threats that would not hesitate to see them strewn asunder._

* * *

That first Sunday following the mock battle was peaceful. It seemed everyone had finished their homework as well as the chores they were assigned around the monastery. The stables were cleaned, weeds were all picked out of the classrooms' courtyard and sky-patrolling duties were handed back to the Knights of Seiros.

Most students took the opportunity to utilize the amenities of the monastery: Fishing in the great pond, sharing meals in the dining hall, helping the kind woman who ran the greenhouse, shopping in the marketplace or what have you.

But one girl still had her head in the clouds.

Even as blue skies began to transition into an opalescent dance of orange, red and purple brushstrokes against a barely clouded canvas, Marianne found herself unable to look away from each confident pegasus gliding over that chasm between the main area of the monastery and its grand church. Though she hesitated to look down into the abyss they raced across with flapping wings, her heart longed to replace one of the armored knights that rode such magnificent animals.

She could picture it now. A chance to be completely alone with her thoughts as the wind cut off any and all interruptions, where she was so close with her gentle steed that they spoke without speaking. Words passed by nothing more than a distinct twitch or a nuzzle against its pillow-y mane. To be one with a beast that may understand how she felt without any judgment, without any awkward and forced social interaction that would undoubtedly go south.

It was a silly fantasy, but one that she clung to.

As the idea settles over her, she leans further onto the small wall that gated off this portion of the church's exterior from anyone who may accidentally fall into that chasm. Though there was a bulletin board posted on a wall nearby, Marianne had quickly found this outcropping off to the left of the cathedral doorway to be a quiet, rarely travelled area.

It was perfect for being alone.

... Or to find an escape from this mortal coil, should she choose to climb over the paltry battlements and plummet into the Goddess' arms.

Not that she would — unless the Goddess sent some sign for her to do so.

Otherwise the best that could do is get her swooped up in the arms of a patrolling Knight, only to be branded as insane outwardly as she felt on the inside. Which would truly be detrimental to her chances at finding a suitor who would appease her adoptive father.

Oh how she longed for that sign. For anything to end her misery.

"Evening."

Marianne cries out and nearly falls onto her back when she quickly pulls away from the ledge. That was not the sign she had been expecting.

It was Byleth, the new Blue Lions professor, who had yanked her out of the recesses of her thoughts. She was so far gone that he was able to walk up, stand beside her and watch the pegasi with his arms crossed for who knows how long before speaking up.

A morbid thought ran through her mind: If this had been a battlefield, she would be choking up blood with his sword through her spine.

But this wasn't, and she wasn't. Instead she caught a glimpse of some emotion flashing across his face. It wasn't much, but his eyebrows had clearly risen in surprise at her reaction. Otherwise it was just as collected and opaque as ever.

"Sorry," he says simply.

"No, no it's… It's okay." She clears her throat and brushes off the front of her uniform before looking back out at the sky.

Her head ducks just enough to let hair fall in front of her eyes again. However, she couldn't cover the red rushing across her pale cheeks.

Byleth looks off in the same direction, hands tucked in his pockets. The arms of his long black coat, attached to the neck of his armor as though it were a cloak, flapped behind his actual arms like flags in the wind.

He lets the silence settle comfortably before trying to speak up again.

"I was told I could find you here."

Marianne's eyes shot open. Now was when he plunged a dagger into her throat, wasn't it? This really WAS going to turn out to be that sign she had prayed for.

"W-Who… Who told you that?" She stammers out before cautiously looking in Byleth's direction.

He had no weapons drawn. It seemed she would live for another day.

"I'd rather not say for their sake," he remarks with a shrug. Then he stepped away from the wall and turned toward her, face as blank as ever while taking in her expression.

"Though they did ask me to pass this along."

He rummages around in his right pocket for a moment before pulling something out in a closed fist. Marianne shuts her eyes tight, clearly expecting something malicious.

But after a moment she opens them slowly to find a trinket in his outstretched hand, waiting patiently for her to take it.

With a quiet 'thank you' she picks up the small object and delicately rolls it around in her fingers. It was a black hairpin with a rather intricate wooden attachment to the eye that was designed like a book. The book had two jewels on the front where you might expect the title to be, one blue and one pink.

_Hilda_. Of course.

Marianne began to regret her somewhat growing closeness with the other Golden Deer girl if it meant her comings-and-goings were for sale to any wannabe sleuth trying to corner her after an afternoon of prayer.

But as the tome featured on this accessory reminded her, it was nice to have someone she could register a 'growing closeness' with.

"So… What did you want then?" She asks while putting the hairpin away.

Byleth crosses his arms again and rolls his neck to both sides before turning around so he could sit on the edge of the stone. Off in that direction he could see the Goddess Tower cutting into the sherbet skies.

It was a supposedly mythical place attached to the church that he was told nobody could enter except on one very special occasion. Frankly, it just looked like an abandoned mess of stone and overgrowth if you asked him.

"After the mock battle I saw you taking care of your wounded housemates. You're handy with faith and healing spells, aren't you Marianne?"

She shies away when he turns his head just enough to look at her through the corner of his eyes. Eventually she takes a similar posture sitting along the edge of the wall, hands folded in her lap. She hoped it would alleviate his glance.

"Yes… I suppose. Though so is Mercedes, is she not?" Marianne swallows hard.

"Prays half as often as you, from what I understand." Byleth nods. "Can't help but wonder what you're praying for."

"Oh, um. Nothing specific." Her voice grows meeker as she focuses her attention on her own intertwining fingers. "I only call upon the Goddess to give thanks, or perhaps to ask for protection."

The professor rubs his chin thoughtfully. He wasn't entirely convinced by her answer, but knew it would be rude to lean too hard into her.

"There's no need to be so nervous," he remarks in a somewhat soothing tone.

When she notices his eyes gesturing to her twiddling fingers, she quickly pulls them apart and latches her hands onto the wall hard enough that her knuckles turn white.

"I'm… Not very good at talking to people."

He nods again. "Well I'm sorry to have bothered you so late into the afternoon."

She looked surprised again. Did he just apologize for brushing up against her shortcomings? That was… New.

"There's no need to apologize. It's okay." Marianne offers the barest amount of a smile that she could, then let it disappear just as quickly. "What did you want, though?"

With a slight grunt, Byleth stands up and stretches his arms.

"Rhea has tasked the Blue Lions with taking out bandits this month. I trust them to do the job — they certainly have the strength. However, it's the first time they'll be thrust into real danger."

Marianne winces as she can see the through line of this conversation. But that doesn't stop Byleth from turning to deliver it directly to her.

"If we could arrange it with Professor Hanneman, I would like to have an extra white mage with us. To be safe."

The blue-haired girl quickly shakes her head as she looks up at him.

"W-Why me…? Why not ask… Um… Lindhardt?"

Byleth lets out a half-chuckle, half-scoff.

"I'd rather not have someone falling asleep at the front lines."

"Well, I don't think I'd be much better for you." When he raises another eyebrow curiously, Marianne sighs. "I specifically avoided joining the mock battle because I'm not the best with combat… And so I would not bring my bad luck to the battlefield."

Her skin crawls as she feels him rest a hand on her shoulder. It didn't help her whole 'not great with people' mentality, even if his calm voice kept her grounded.

"You would simply be there in case we need an extra cleric. I promise I would not actually bring you to the front lines. Nor this… 'Bad luck' you speak of."

She looks at her feet, watching them inch closer to his. As soon as the initial wave of panic that came with his touch had passed, she felt comforted by it. More than she had with anyone in recent memory.

"I see."

Byleth nods and steps back, giving her the room to stand up. He even offers her a hand to help.

"This wouldn't be until the end of the month, so you have time to think it over."

"I… Appreciate that." She really did, it showed through the warm smile that briefly blossoms out of her cold, withdrawn features. "I'll let you know."

She offers him a bow, which he returns with an arm under his chest.

"Good-bye, Professor."

He watches as she scampers away, quickly retreating toward the bridge back into Garreg Mach proper. It was hard not to notice the way she carried herself, arms folded to avoid flailing around as her feet moved fleetly in small steps under the wide hoop of her skirt. Much like the nuns who passed between buildings as though carrying on a task for Saint Seiros herself.

"Quite an odd girl, isn't she?"

Byleth glances over his shoulder to find a much younger girl resting her arms against it as she, too, watched Marianne abscond.

Though conventional wisdom would suggest she was standing on the wall to reach his height, in truth she was floating at his side like an ethereal specter. Long, unruly cascades of emerald green hair rolled down her back from the crown keeping her curious face cleared. It fell around the stone alongside her open purple robe.

The girl on the throne. She had long since escaped his dreams and begun commenting on whatever he came across.

In this case he agreed.

"Yes. It might be wise to keep an eye on her."

Sothis snorts back a laugh and floats off over the chasm, away from him.

"Didn't take you for a pervert, Byleth."

He glares back at her.

Sometimes having the peanut gallery wasn't all that pleasant.


	5. The March to Zanado

**Part 1 — Harpstring Moon**

_Zanado, or the Red Canyon as it is more commonly known today, is a locale of great import to the Church of Seiros. It lies close to Garreg Mach Monastery within the Oghma Mountains in central Fódlan: the natural barrier between the continent's three great nations. Where some great structures once stood, ruins now await those who visit the hallowed grounds hoisted high above sheer cliffs and valleys obscured by ethereal blue mist. There are few who still know what inhabited the ruins, but many claim visiting the site is a transcendent experience all the same._

_Thus when bandits reportedly took refuge there, Archbishop Rhea was quick to amass her soldiers for retribution — alongside the Blue Lions and their professor._

_None of the involved parties would truly understand the gravity of entering into conflict with these bandits, the same whom Byleth and Jeralt fended off with Fódlan's burgeoning royalty in Remire Village. They are in league with a mysterious entity calling themselves "The Flame Emperor." What this antagonistic force has planned would not be revealed for many months to come, but it would undoubtedly bring an end to peace in Fódlan as we know it._

* * *

Though the march from Garreg Mach to Zanado wasn't particularly long, it was arduous. Signs of civilization that were built around the monastery quickly gave way to uneven plateaus strung together by little more than bridges seemingly old enough for the Saints themselves to have traversed.

The landscape was drab to some, a sea of monotonous grey only broken up by sparse trees and rocky outcroppings. It was easy to trip over the cracked earth, especially as those preparing for battle had to lug around heavy instruments of war.

Because the Blue Lions class was only "tagging along" for this mission, they took up the rear section of the marching platoon. They were isolated from a group that some (read: Felix) had determined to be pompous about the skills of rookie combatants.

Byleth had long since pulled Felix aside to keep him from getting too worked up about the whole thing.

The green-haired professor spent much of their walking time demonstrating different kinds of jabs and sidewinding punches. His black-haired student mimicked them for critique while wearing a set of iron gauntlets that covered his forearms and extended his reach through daggers protruding out of the knuckles.

At the very back of the line, Marianne distanced herself further to cautiously watch her estranged classmates. Professor Hanneman had been happy to let her join the Blue Lions for this mission, as it was a good opportunity to "break out of that shell." However, the longer she was there, the more Marianne regretted ever agreeing to go.

Her attention focused heavily on the heir of Fraldarius. Felix was the only one who truly intimidated her, especially after his comments the first day. She hoped Byleth would keep him busy enough to not be a concern.

At the same time, she tried to keep tabs on everyone else's position to avoid any interactions. The constant worrying exacerbated an already exhausting march.

Mercedes was off on her own, head ducked as though offering a quick prayer before they encountered any danger.

Dimitri, Sylvain and Ingrid were at the front of the pack making idle chatter, as Dedue stood guard behind his liege.

Annette lent Ashe an ear to wear down as he joyously talked about getting to work with real knights.

Then her train of thought was once again broken by a questioning voice:

"Isn't it funny how they call this place 'the Red Canyon' when there is not a hint of red in anything around us?"

Marianne jerks her attention toward the deliberately slow and soft-spoken voice of Mercedes, who had fallen back when she wasn't looking to stand beside her.

For a moment, Marianne is transfixed.

It seemed Mercedes was everything the reclusive blue-haired girl wasn't. Mercedes carried herself with a confident poise, and the golden cloth wrapped around her shoulders hardly fell out of place when she moved her arms. Her silvery yellow hair was effortlessly tied with a cute bow and laid in front of her left shoulder to perfectly frame those soft facial features and make her pure blue eyes stand out. And let's not forget that she was the oldest student in the Academy, which gave her at least a five-year advantage in cultivating a shapely figure that Marianne could never hope to compete with.

What was she doing here when this perfect woman fit the same niche?

As soon as Marianne became cognizant of the eternity that had passed in the few seconds she was staring, she turns her gaze to her feet.

"Yes. I suppose."

The dimples in Mercedes' cheeks deepen as she smiles.

"It's a wonderful place all the same. Truly the Goddess has blessed us with a beautiful stretch of nature to enjoy during our assignment."

When Mercedes lets off a slight giggle to punctuate her thought, Marianne shudders. Her voice rolled over the anxious girl like a warm bath of honey and she hated it. She hated being stuck here with people who were so much more useful than her; People who flaunted that fact by trying to engage her in conversation.

But Marianne kept talking, as meek as she felt, to keep from appearing rude.

"It is nice out here," she mumbles. "If I were with the Golden Deer this week, I'd be off to Daphnel to pick up blacksmithing materials. It's too cold there for my liking…"

"You should spend some time in the Kingdom. It's cold no matter where you go!"

Mercedes links her hands by her belly and laughs. Marianne tries her best to force out a chuckle to fit in, but struggles to hold it nearly as long.

There's a pause as Mercedes fluffs at her hair when she's done laughing. Then she looks at the blue-haired girl directly.

"Sorry if I bothered you, Marianne. I just wanted to tell you how excited I was to see you coming with us this morning."

Marianne feels her heart stop. That was a joke, right…?

She wasn't sure, and that made her even more anxious. Cheeks draining of color, eyes widening like saucers, hands shaking by her sides. The works.

"I don't know why you would be. I'm just going to stay back and heal from afar if I need to, otherwise I'll just bring you all bad luck."

"Bad luck?" Mercedes looks curious at that, tapping a finger on her lower lip. "I don't know about that. If anything I feel like we're rather kindred spirits, you and I! Nobody spends as much time praying as we do, it seems."

Marianne has to look away from Mercedes to hide her quivering lip. It was a nice thought, but the girl knew that she and Mercedes were undoubtedly not praying for the same things.

To be kindred spirits with her was a nice dream. Nothing more.

She swallows back the lump in her throat and begins idly gnawing on her right thumbnail to try and cover her shaky voice.

"Honestly, Mercedes… I would say I spend more time confessing than praying."

Mercedes frowns in response, wondering what Marianne would feel guilty enough to confess about so often. But it wasn't her place to ask. She simply rests a hand on Marianne's shoulder and brings back a warm, assuring smile.

"I'm sure the Goddess forgives you for whatever you feel the need to confess, Marianne."

Again, the niceties stun her.

She opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. Just hearing those thoughts come from someone as devout as Mercedes was touching in a way she could not articulate — and honestly might not want to. That would be opening up too much.

Luckily she did not have to respond, as others joined the duo.

"Mercedes. Marianne." Dimitri remarks in his usual kind, confident tone as he stands on the other side of Marianne.

She looks up from her feet and flashes a fleeting smile.

"Dimitri, hello."

As she looks ahead, she'd come face-to-face with Sylvain, who was walking backwards in front of her. He had both arms folded behind his neck as he offered her a charismatic smile.

Realizing she was surrounded on three sides, Marianne casts her eyes back on her feet. This was getting a little too crowded for her liking.

Sylvain, on the other hand, thrived on having many people to talk to.

"So. You guys are on a first-name basis already, huh?" The redhead teases. "Even Ashe still calls Dimitri 'your Highness.'"

Before Dimitri has the chance to scold him, Sylvain cries out as he trips over an uneven patch of ground. Mercedes gasps and nearly dashes forward to try and catch him, but Sylvain finds his footing again and holds up both hands to keep everyone back.

"I'm good, I'm good. No worries."

He laughs, and then shifts to walk normally beside Dimitri so he could see where he was going.

The Prince clears his throat, taking the opportunity to change subjects.

"I wanted to thank you for coming on this mission with us Marianne," he says. "It's a lot to ask, so we appreciate you being so willing."

Marianne shrugs off the comment as she drags her feet more sheepishly.

"The Professor is quite convincing when he wants to be," she mutters — deflecting all of the thanks.

The three Blue Lions all laugh at the comment.

"Yes, he really is." Dimitri nods. "That's one of the reasons we like him."

There's a period of silence as Marianne continues to stare at the floor.

Dimitri winds up breaking the silence, with a tone that clearly showed he was hoping to make their guest feel more comfortable.

"I hope you don't mind, but I brought Sylvain along so he could apologize." That draws the nervous girl's attention. "I heard he was rather crass when you two met."

Sylvain steps up so he can look past Dimitri to Marianne. His expression turns more genuine when they see one another. She can tell by the look in his eyes.

"If it came across that way, I really am sorry. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

The genuine emotion on his face then dissipates with a smug-looking grin.

"I just can't really control myself around a beautiful lady. That's all!"

Dimitri hits Sylvain hard on the shoulder, and the redhead stumbles to the side with an audible grunt of pain.

"Seriously?"

The blond Prince shakes his head with visceral disappointment.

"Ingrid is right, Sylvain. If you're going to be the Margrave of Gautier one day, you cannot be this insincere with people."

As Sylvain straightens out his posture again, he holds a hand up to his heart and gasps. He was hurt by the accusation, but clearly over-acting the bit.

"Insincere?" He scoffs and shakes his head. "Dimitri. Do you really think I'm lying about Marianne being a beautiful lady?"

The redhead slips past Dimitri so he can stand behind Marianne, resting his hands on her shoulders to hold her out as an example of his point. She tenses at his touch, but it was innocent enough that she doesn't try to squirm away.

Dimitri rolls his eyes and crosses his arms at the obvious straw man tactic. A light red dusts his cheeks.

"That's not the point and you know it."

From her side, Mercedes giggles with a hand over her mouth before reaching out to hold Marianne's wrist. The blue-haired girl's attention is pulled that way.

"Don't worry about them," she chimes. "Like I said, it's awfully cold in Faerghus. Tends to make people a little… Crazy."

The three Blue Lions continue to playfully banter and laugh amongst themselves. Eventually the warmth of their friendship around her does make Marianne smile and start to feel a little better about her decision to come along.

However, that fleeting moment of happiness is snuffed out as she looked ahead to find Felix's fiery orange eyes glaring from over his shoulder. He turns away right when she notices, but the message was clear. The more she indulged in this endeavor, the closer she got to that supposed boar's tusks.

Felix's eyes were seared into her memory as she returned to her usual downtrodden stance.


	6. The Battle for Zanado

The next time Marianne caught Felix's sharp glare, he was slumped against a boulder. His right arm ran red with splotches of blood dribbling down from a wooden arrow that pierced through the flesh of his shoulder. That long-sleeve white shirt was undoubtedly ruined, but Felix seemed no worse for the wear beyond having a more annoyed disposition than usual.

"I can't believe that bastard sent me out there with these ridiculous mittens when I have a perfectly fine sword!"

He lifts the iron gauntlets still around his hands off the ground and slams them both down at once, causing a sharp clang to ring out across the canyon.

Marianne gasps at the aggressive outburst and takes a step back. She was nervous already, standing over her raven-haired comrade trying to decide what she should do, but his poor demeanor didn't help. Really — blaspheming the Professor of all people!

Luckily, she clearly wasn't the only one taken aback by Felix's attitude. The scrawny, liberally-freckled Ashe stood to Felix's side with his bow slung behind his back.

He runs both hands through his grey hair and sighs, trying to steady himself.

"Felix please, you must relax." Ashe's soft-spoken voice was obviously trying to come out with as comforting a bedside manner as possible, but the underlying warble of nerves was hard to completely cover up.

"I'll relax as soon as you get this damned arrow out of my shoulder Ubert," he snarls while looking at Ashe with gnashing teeth.

Ashe briefly backs away from the hostility.

But soon enough he puffs out his chest and turns on as serious an expression as his somewhat cutesy, soft features could muster.

"I can only pull the arrow free if you relax!" He 'yells' back, though it was more a slightly raised voice. "Otherwise it's just going to tear your tense muscle tissue apart."

Felix grimaces at the thought and leans his head against the boulder. He shuts his eyes and takes a few deep breaths.

While he gets ready for the makeshift procedure, Marianne peeks her head around the right side of the stone he was sitting against.

The battle for the control of Zanado had been raging for a good while now. Once they arrived at the canyon proper, scouting reports suggested the enemy was hiding out in multiple areas. It was decided that the Knights of Seiros and the Blue Lions class would take different sections, leaving Byleth and his students on their own against a small militia.

They had been given a smaller surface area to cover: A part of the ruins that were believed to be significant by some archaeologists. From the southern entryway, there was only one route into this area across a bridge. The Blue Lions easily crossed this checkpoint and made it onto a semi-circular plateau rising out of the bottomless chasm where a ruined building full of looted, broken chests lay dormant. There were two paths available to reach the other side of the expanse where the bandit leader Kostas sat waiting; one more heavily fortified bridge to the north and a slender, natural rock bridge past the building to the west.

Byleth split his students across both paths so they could flank the small fortification on which Kostas had taken refuge. He had encountered the scruffy, beady-eyed man once before during the assault near Remire Village on Edelgard, Dimitri and Claude months ago, so he knew the bandit would crumble easily against multiple assailants.

Felix had been tasked with leading the northern flank across the bridge.

Obviously that hadn't ended too well for the black-haired noble, who was pulled back so they could tend to his injury. The battle continued without him, and as of yet not much progress had been made to the north. Without a sheer powerhouse like Felix, whose major Crest of Fraldarius provided an edge in combat; Dedue took up the front line. Equipped with an iron shield, Dedue was a wall not many could break through. He was just too focused on protecting Dimitri to really push through.

Yet Marianne did happen to look upon the bridge assault just as the mountainous man from Duscur charged a sword-wielding bandit. He bashed the unsuspecting man with his shield clutched tight to his chest. The war cry Dedue bellowed almost completely drowned out the sound of the bandit's terrified screams as he plummeted to an unsightly demise.

"… Hello?"

The blue-haired cleric pulled her eyes away from the horrors of war and back to Ashe when he calls for her. That leads her gaze to Felix, reminding her why she was here in the first place.

"Are you ready, Miss Marianne?" Ashe asks with a pleasant formality unbefitting their surroundings. "As soon as I pull this arrow free you'll need to close up the wound."

"Um… Of course," she mumbles back with a nervous nod.

He nods back at her, no more confident. Luckily Felix had his eyes closed and wouldn't see the hesitation in those he currently entrusted with his safety.

Ashe kneels beside Felix and rubs his hands together to make them less slick. Then he rests his left hand on Felix's arm while gripping the shaft of the arrow jutting out with his right.

That's the first time Felix betrays that numbness to the pain he portrayed. He hisses out a cuss and briefly tenses up when Ashe grabs the arrow, but soon relaxes again.

"Alright, on the count of three…" Ashe begins after a deep breath.

"One… Two…"

Yank.

The raven-haired boy yelps out and squirms against the rock, his back arcing away from it. A puff of blood sputtered out onto Ashe's shirt, but the rest of the torrent that escaped was only apparent from the river of red flooding down his sleeve.

"M-Move please!" Marianne squeals.

She stumbles forward and drops to her knees beside Felix. Ashe gets up and steps away to give her some room, tossing the loosed projectile over his shoulder. It clatters against the stone floor before rolling away. Thankfully the arrow was completely intact, nothing left behind.

Marianne crosses her palms over the wound in Felix's arm. A bright, semi-translucent green glow obscured the space under her hands.

The boy's spasms slowed and eventually stopped the longer he was exposed to the warmth of her healing aura. It both began to close the hole and sent a rush of euphoric pleasure tingling across his upper body.

Felix lets a carefree sigh escape as his pursed lips soften into a thin smile.

For just a moment, Marianne can't help but smile back — not that he could see her with his eyes closed. It was good to know that she could make even someone as hardened as Felix Hugo Fraldarius feel good.

Her face pulls back into a casual gaze as she feels Ashe rest a hand on her shoulder. She looks up to find the small boy towering over her with a smile of his own.

"If you've got this, I'm going to head back out there. Ingrid apparently found an unopened chest, and they need someone to pick it open."

"Right… Of course." Marianne felt her nerves return as she imagined being alone with Felix, but she had no right to keep Ashe away from where he was needed.

"Just be safe, okay?"

Ashe grins, chuckling at her comment.

"You can count on me!"

And with that he was off, re-equipping his bow so he could fire off an arrow or two across the chasms at their opponents before slipping into the abandoned building.

As soon as Marianne was confident that she had closed Felix's wound enough to be stable, she slowly weans him off the flow of magic. Healing spells could be dangerously powerful when they weren't diluted to cast from a distance, so she made sure he would be fine without the numbing effect before going to the next step.

The blue-haired girl pulls a spool of gauze out of a small pouch she carried and carefully wraps a strand around his shoulder to stop any further bleeding.

Once she was satisfied, she pulls her hands away and stands up again. By now the pleasant smile on Felix's face had been replaced by a general look of cautious, collected ambivalence.

Opening his eyes, those orange irises lay upon her without the sneering daggers she was used to, for once.

"Thanks," he says.

It was a simple gesture of gratitude, but Marianne could immediately tell it was genuine — perhaps even hard for the boy to bring himself to say.

She offers a slight smile in return and bows.

"I… I'm just doing my job."

Suddenly, the sound of a blade cuts through the air to her right. Marianne barely has the chance to react before she hears the sharp metal sever cloth and slice into flesh.

However… It's not her body that takes the blow.

The paralysis that overtook her entire system breaks when she feels a bit of blood splatter against her right cheek. She looks toward the source to find Dimitri standing between her and a snarling bandit. The Prince's arm is cut, and the sword used is still biting into it.

Marianne can hardly say a word. The best that manages to escape is a jumbled sputter of too many thoughts trying to escape at once. However, the emotion she felt is splayed all across her face — particularly in her widened, shaking brown eyes.

Somehow, someone broke across the bridge. Someone who wanted to kill her.

But Dimitri took the hit.

Despite all the terrible thoughts that ran through Marianne's mind about spending the rest of her life being blamed for killing the Prince of Faerghus, Dimitri seemed no worse off than usual.

His free, uninjured arm twirls his lance like a baton. It gracefully spins with an airy whoosh until he grips down hard to stop it.

Then the sharp end thrusts forward, piercing the bandit's stomach with a sickening squelch. He tries to scream in pain, but winds up gurgling on the blood that bubbled out of his throat and down his lower lip. Dimitri callously tugs his weapon out of its human sheath and allows the bandit's body to crumble to the floor.

After it was obvious the limp figure posed no other danger, he looks at Marianne over his shoulder. Though hardened for battle, there was still sympathy in his eyes.

"Are you okay?" He asks.

She simply stares for a long moment before nodding in a silent affirmation.

"Good," he smiles. "Sorry, we let that one slip by. Do try to watch for any danger from here on though. Alright?"

She nods again, voice still gone.

Dimitri seems appeased. He runs off toward the bridge, ready to join Dedue and Byleth as they doubled-down against one of the few remaining bandits.

It looked like the tide of battle was turning in their favor.

But Marianne continued to stand there. Terrified energy wracked her body with shutters. Even when Felix eventually rose to his feet and ran to join his allies, all she could do was stare into the middle distance. At one point she manages to lift a hand and rub some of the blood off her cheek, but staring at the red that stained her fingerprints only made her feel more sick.

The sooner this conflict could end, the better.

* * *

Once Kostas was defeated, fighting all around the Red Canyon quickly ceased.

As the Knights of Seiros arrested the remaining combatants to bring them back to Garreg Mach for judgment, Byleth slipped away to find a ledge up high. Ever since the mercenary had arrived, there was a nagging sense of familiarity tugging at his chest. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that he had never been to this part of the mountains, but he felt a burning desire to get a better vantage point all the same.

Staring out over the natural splendor of Zanado brought on a mix of emotions — even if Byleth's face betrayed no feeling whatsoever.

On the one hand, he was overcome by how wonderful everything was. The air was fresh and reinvigorating, and the dilapidated columns and mossy walls of the old ruins evoked a sense of mystery that made observing them exciting.

But on the other hand, the familiarity was driving him crazy. He _knew_ he had never been here. Yet questions kept echoing through his head.

"Since when has it been called the Red Canyon…" Byleth mutters.

While he contemplates that question, a chill runs along his spine. He felt like he was being watched.

And he was.

"I wonder why it is that you recall this place."

His gaze jerks toward the second voice, which strangely sounded as though it was both directly beside him and ringing through his skull like a delusion.

It didn't take long for him to figure out whom the voice was coming from, but seeing the cascading emerald hair in his peripheral vision confirmed his suspicion.

"You must be weak of heart. Each time I speak, it scares you so," Sothis remarks with a chortle as she floated in the air beside him.

"You surprised me," he responds in that characteristically bland tone of voice.

She rolls her eyes and starts to circle around him.

"Well I figure you should be used to my presence by now," she teases as he turns his head to try and follow her. "Keep this up and I'll have to start comparing you to that sickly blue-haired girl you're always scaring."

Byleth tries to rebut her accusations, but she's having none of it. In fact, she puts her foot down (metaphorically speaking) and moves on.

The two go on to talk about why he feels the way he does about Zanado, a place that Sothis herself feels a strong emotional attachment to as well.

But at the bottom of the canyon, that 'sickly blue-haired girl' watches the curious instructor. Marianne has her right fist clutched in her left hand, seemingly mid-prayer, as she stares up at him.

By now she had wiped the blood away and was over the blunt of her shellshock. But she clearly still wanted to be alone.

Which is why she was naturally joined by another wandering soul.

"Isn't it curious how it always looks like the Professor is talking to himself when he is alone?" Dimitri asks in a somewhat jovial tone.

She replies with silence while looking over him. He had his arms crossed while his icy blue eyes gazed up at Byleth.

For the most part, Dimitri looked as happy as his tone suggested. They had completed their task quite successfully, after all.

Yet Marianne couldn't help but longingly stare at the bandage around his arm.

When it becomes clear she was not going to respond to his question, Dimitri looks over at her. She immediately turns her eyes back toward her shoes in turn, not wanting to catch his gaze directly.

"Ah… I'm sorry if I've disturbed your prayer, Marianne."

"There's no need to apologize," she quickly interjects with hopes of dissuading this conversation. "I just finished."

That just makes him smile and nod.

"I see. What were you praying for?"

There is no escape.

"I was simply asking the Goddess… For forgiveness."

"Forgiveness?" He lets out a breathy kind of scoff in disbelief. "Forgiveness for what?"

He didn't understand. She didn't know why she expected him to.

"I put our soldiers in danger," she mumbles. "Especially Felix. I wasn't paying attention, and—"

He cuts her off.

"What matters is you all were safe in the end. You shouldn't blame yourself for that."

Dimitri tries to comfort her by resting a hand on her shoulder. However, the gesture spooks her more than anything, and Marianne pulls away from it.

That causes Dimitri to grimace as it pulls at the wound on his arm.

Marianne looks mortified to have caused him any pain. An apology screams out of her widened eyes.

"You did tell me I wasn't watching closely enough…"

He couldn't argue, and rubs his neck sheepishly. The point obviously wasn't taken quite like he meant it to.

"And you were injured when you came to our aid, Dimitri."

"That?" He holds up his bandaged arm and offers a slight grin. "It was just a scratch. A small price to pay for your safety."

"But…"

"I would never regret helping an ally, even if it meant losing my own life."

She was stunned. How could he say such a thing?

The longer she spent with Dimitri, the more she started to believe Felix about their fraternizing being a bad thing. Not because he would kill her one day, but because he might kill himself for her. Sooner rather than later.

Being blamed for the death of the future King of a nation left without a birthright ruler was a terrifying thought. Yet… Somehow it was not quite as terrifying as the thought of outliving yet another companion.

Marianne knew she needed to get out of this conversation fast. She could feel herself starting to hyperventilate.

"No, no. That's all wrong."

"Pardon?" Dimitri is taken aback by that, and raises an eyebrow curiously.

"I… I can't… It's just all wrong!" She shakes her head, jostling more hair to fall in her face and hide her from the world. From him.

"You have my thanks for helping in the battle, Dimitri. But I'm afraid I have to ask that you keep your distance from me."

There's a pause as he stares at her, trying to gauge just how serious she was being.

"Is that so?" He eventually asks.

Her response is immediate.

"Yes."

Again he takes a long pause to soak in the moment. He closes his eyes and turns his head to the floor, crossing his arms once more.

"Forgive me, but I will be there for you." There's a sense of indignation in his voice now. "Whether you want me to or not."

"Bu—"

"I can give you space around the monastery Marianne, but if we're on the same battlefield again do not expect me to leave well enough alone. My lance will be your shield as much as it is for any of our allies."

All Marianne does is tilt her head down. She resigned herself to the idea, but was not happy about it.

Dimitri wasn't very happy about leaving the conversation on that awkward note either. However, he wasn't sure where they could go from there.

He turns tail and starts to walk off, cape flowing behind him as he searched for a way up the cliff to meet with Byleth.

Marianne clasps her hands together again, shuddering.

"I'm sorry…"


	7. Tragedies

**Part 1 — Blue Sea Moon**

_Archbishop Rhea was pleased with the Blue Lion's performance at the Battle for Zanado. Pleased enough to entrust the class with quelling a rebellion that had broken out during the Garland Moon alongside the Knights of Seiros and Thunder Catherine: An instructor at the Officers Academy known for her ability to wield Thunderbrand, one of the Heroes' Relics once used by the Ten Elites during the war against Nemesis._

_Lord Lonato from Gaspard, a region in the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, was instigating the rebellion — unbeknownst to his adoptive son Ashe. Lonato became hostile toward the Church after they executed his birth son Christophe; believing he was involved with the assassination of Dimitri's father. Ashe was unable to save his adoptive father when the Knights of Seiros were assaulted in a heavily fogged Magdred Way._

_Following Lonato's defeat, a larger plot to assassinate Rhea during the Goddess's Rite of Rebirth was discovered on his person. Rhea and Seteth entrusted Byleth and his students to help ensure the Monastery would be secure while the Blue Sea Moon's holy ritual is conducted at the end of the month._

* * *

"Come on Ashe, open up!"

Annette offers the gloomy boy a bubbly smile. The two were sitting at one of the metal mesh tables in a small hedge-enclosed plaza just outside of the Garreg Mach Entrance Hall. That plaza was situated right next to the Amiibo Gazebo — which was a fixture of the Monastery with a curious name originating from some old tradition that had since been forgotten, but stuck on account of how fun it was to say.

She was holding an ornate silver spoon with a dark red, translucent gelatinous cube sitting snugly on the small bowl. The vaguely edible-looking substance had a mesmerizing wiggle every time Annette swayed her hand side-to-side, trying to keep in-line with Ashe's mouth as he dismissively turned away.

"I'm okay Annette, really."

His usual optimistic tone was dulled into a banal indifference that suggested anything but. It left the small girl's smile sagging just to hear it, as much as she tried to keep up appearances.

"Please?" She pleads, blinking quickly to complete the puppy dog stare and bring attention to her large, teal blue eyes. "Mercie and I worked really hard on this! You have to try it."

Ashe has to intentionally keep his gaze elsewhere to avoid falling victim to her wily charms… But even then can still felt her eyes bore into his soul.

It doesn't take long for him to lament, look toward her and open his mouth.

She giggles and flashes her pearly whites before moving the spoon to feed him. Perceptive listeners could even hear her mutter 'here it comes' as though she were feeding a young child.

The grey-haired boy was not a young child. In fact, he and Annette had been the same age until her birthday during the Harpstring Moon.

But the juvenile goofiness of her delivery was not lost on him. Ashe holds back a laugh by snorting as he closes his eyes and closes his lips around the spoon. She pulls it away soon after; now clean of the gelatin that he was chewing over with tiny squelching sounds.

He takes a long time mulling the stuff over before swallowing, which leaves Annette looking particularly anxious as she leans her elbows on the table and plays with the ringlets of orange hair hanging past her ears.

"So?" She asks impatiently.

Ashe takes a deep breath through his nose and keeps his eyes shut. He lifts a finger into the air, as if preparing for a lecture.

A lecture that begins with him smacking his lips.

"I'll admit, the texture took me some time to get used to," he says with a low, drawn-out tone that suggests he still needed to get his thoughts together. "But the flavor was… Dare I say? Divine."

"Whoa, seriously?" Annette's eyes widen as she leans in, eager to hear more.

"Seriously!" Ashe finally opens his eyes so he can look at her with an excited grin. "Strawberry, but with a hint of something tart under the surface. Like apples or…"

Annette brings her hands up and circles them around each other, telling him to keep going.

"Or… Perhaps… Rhubarb?"

"That's it!" Annette squeals, and then claps her hands together. "Mercie told me you'd get it!"

Ashe's cheeks run red at the compliment, which causes his freckles to pop.

"Did she?"

"Yes! She said you're a great chef, and that you could figure it out in a heartbeat."

"Ah…" He sheepishly chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. "Well that's awfully sweet of her to say, but I'm not half as good a chef as someone like Dedue."

"Well, who is?"

The two share a laugh.

When it passes, he gestures to take the spoon, which she graciously hands over. She even pushes the small plate of gelatin squares closer to him, in spite of his insistence that she should have some too.

"Are you sure?" He asks before sucking up another piece.

"Positive." Annette folds her hands in her lap and gently sways her head. "We made it for you, Ashe. I, you know, figured you could probably use a pick-me-up with everything that's been going on."

Ashe's vigor to eat fades for a moment as he hesitates to bring another spoonful up to his mouth.

"Are you holding up okay?" She continues, leaning her head in to try and meet his downward gaze with a sympathetic smile. "I know Lonato meant a lot to you."

Again, Ashe keeps her waiting by mulling over the answer alongside another mouthful of gelatin.

Then he keeps her waiting longer by taking a deep breath once he swallows it.

"It's getting easier every day I suppose," he says with a breathy exhale. "And it helps that I have friends like you around to prop me up."

Annette's unrestrained, bubbly and sappy smile returns when she hears that.

"Aw… I'm really glad to hear that, Ashe!" She giggles and brings her arms up to playfully tent her fingers under her chin.

"We've really missed having your smile brighten up this place. So anything we can do to help cheer you up, just let me know okay?"

Ashe slowly nods and his eyes dart about as the gears turn in his head.

His smile curls a little more mischievously.

"Perhaps next time we should have Dedue make the treats?"

He was clearly teasing and could barely hold the laughter behind his shit-eating grin. Luckily Annette picked up on that, as she responds with an over-dramatic scoff before leaning over the table to shove his shoulder.

"Rude!"

They both break into a fit of laughter again, making for a cheery sight in the middle of a group of other students at different tables idly chatting or studying.

Dimitri smiles, looking over his two classmates from a distance while leaning against one of the maze-like walls outside of the Entrance Hall.

Everyone had been concerned for Ashe after the battle in the fog. There were still glimmers of his earnest personality when Ashe ran home to make sure his younger siblings were safe and put into the care of someone trustworthy. However, he became a recluse for at least the first full week they were back in Garreg Mach.

Annette was right: They had missed having the old Ashe around. More than any of the Blue Lions would have realized before he was gone.

So seeing his chipper return was a good feeling for Dimitri, the student leader.

It was also nice for Byleth, who showed up there for a completely different reason. He rests a hand on Dimitri's shoulder.

"Professor." Dimitri says when he looks to the serious face beside him.

"Can I speak to you, Dimitri?" Byleth asks, crossing his arms. "Privately."

The blond prince is quick to nod.

* * *

Byleth and Dimitri settled down on a bench overlooking the Monastery's small graveyard. The collection of gravestones was built onto an open area overlooking the great chasm between the main grounds and the church, right beside the entrance to the grand bridge connecting the two.

Faerghus' crown prince sat with a polite, straight posture befitting his station and kept his hands clasped over his lap. His professor, by contrast, leaned forward to look into the open chasm with his elbows resting on each of his slightly spread knees.

"I know this is a sore spot for you Dimitri, but I can't imagine anyone more knowledgeable on the subject than you would be."

Though his words were obviously sympathetic, Byleth's face stayed as stone cold as ever — even when he glanced toward his student out of the corner of his eye.

"Can you tell me more about the Tragedy of Duscur?"

Dimitri tenses up at the mere mention of the event. He takes a few shaky breaths in some attempt to center himself before continuing.

"Do you really wish to know?" His tone is more somber and quiet than Byleth had ever heard before.

But he confirms all the same.

"Lonato's revolution was sparked by his son's supposed involvement in the Tragedy. The longer I spend with you all, the more I've come to see how deep the scars it left truly are."

The professor turns his body to face Dimitri more directly.

"If my intuition is right, this won't be the last time we hear about its aftermath." He reaches out and rests a hand on Dimitri's, feeling it quiver. "I would greatly like to know more. If you're comfortable telling me."

Though Byleth's touch does help Dimitri relax a considerable amount, it doesn't clear the somber funk he had fallen into. The prince steels himself to talk by looking down at his boots, which let some hair fall to obscure his eyes from Byleth's prying gaze.

"Four years ago, my father was killed alongside a number of other noblemen. They were assassinated by a band of… Curs."

Dimitri snarls and spits out the last word with particular venom. He only continues after centering himself again.

"I was there. Spared for some reason I've yet to deduce. Many of my family and friends — including Felix's older brother Glenn — were all wiped away in an instant. They were spared from the torment of spending every waking moment wondering why, as I do, but… As you said, that has been no condolence for the living."

When the prince stops to ease his raspy breathing, Byleth begins to gently massage his hand and forearm.

It seems to help.

"The people of Duscur were blamed for the incident, and brutally subjugated by those who took my father's place while I continue to grieve and come of age. Even though I know Duscur as a whole is not to blame, my people's wounds have yet to scab over. They hunger to get revenge, and those insurgents have cursed their homeland to take on that burden." Dimitri finally looks up so he can meet Byleth's calm expression.

"Dedue is one of the few members of his people left alive because I saved him. You've seen what kind of man he is, so you must know that his people are not all the savage murderers we scapegoat them to be."

Byleth agrees with a distinct nod, and that brings a smile back to Dimitri's face.

"I figured you would."

There's a period of silence that follows as Dimitri squirms to find a more comfortable position on the bench. He looks out at the immense structure of the church cathedral before them.

"Thinking about the Tragedy of Duscur and all of the pain it has caused can sometimes leave me… Unable to control my feelings."

Byleth's eyebrow rises curiously at that, and he looks down to see Dimitri digging his right thumb into the soft meat of his palm underneath his left black glove.

"Felix has seen my unchecked self before. There's some truth to his bestial jeers." The prince looks back at Byleth. "I'd like to ask something of you, Professor."

"… Yes?"

"You've become a close companion these last few months. I trust your judgment completely, as both an instructor and a military commander. Should you command it, I will gladly draw my blade on any occasion."

Such blind faith seemed out of character for the thoughtful boy, but Byleth would be lying if he said the sentiment wasn't flattering.

"I simply ask that you make sure any mission we take is justifiable," Dimitri says before swallowing a lump in his throat. "I could not stand the thought leaving more orphans in our wake if we were not fighting for a just cause."

The two stare at each other for a moment that felt like an eternity, drinking in each other's beings through the vulnerable windows of their eyes.

Yet the pregnant pause does not end with a more somber punctuation.

Instead… Byleth cracks a smile.

In fact, he smiles widely and starts to laugh. It was a light, dry laugh, but Dimitri's wide-eyed expression suggested it may as well have been the most boisterous expressions he had ever seen.

"Professor?" He says with a stutter.

Once Byleth stops laughing, he shakes his head and looks up toward the sky.

"My father, Jeralt. He always used to say that even mercenaries should be somewhat discerning of the jobs they take. That even if sellswords inherently distance themselves from their work, they shouldn't let blind profiteering lead them to a place where they wouldn't be able to live with themselves."

Dimitri blinks a few times, still stunned by his professor's emotional 'outburst.'

"I see."

"Ever since we became inculcated with the church I've been trying to figure out whether all of his wisdom stems from the establishment's religious doctrine. Baked in from his years here before I was born."

The prince smirks and suppresses his own laughter.

"Well I'm guessing that your emotional explosion just now means I've helped you come to an answer on that front?" Byleth nods. "Glad I can help, then. I think it's an entirely human feeling to want some self-assurance in the work we do."

They silently settle on their shared view of the world. Groups of Pegasus Knights fly by, going against the warm summery breeze that was beginning to warm the Monastery grounds. Byleth had the extra benefit of seeing a green-haired comet fly alongside them: Sothis, eager to watch the gallant knights on patrol.

The moment could have lasted for hours with both Byleth and Dimitri enjoying their comfortable silence.

"… Professor?"

Yet it seemed Dimitri was not quite done.

"Mmm?" Byleth responds while looking over in his peripherals.

"You never speak with much reverence for the Church of Seiros," he begins. "If anything, you always seem to traipse around with suspicions arisen. Even if you think no one is watching."

It takes the professor a second to sort through what words he wanted to share.

"I'm grateful for the opportunity Archbishop Rhea has provided. But I'm a mercenary at heart, always looking for signs that it's time to find new work."

"Of course," Dimitri nods.

"Something about the Lonato incident does not feel right. I can't quite parse what the Church's motivations would be for silencing him without a second thought."

"I agree."

Byleth looks to Dimitri with some surprise at how quickly he came around.

"There is something bizarre about the whole thing. Even if the judgment imparted on Christophe four years ago was unjust, Lord Lonato does not seem like the type to be involved in a counter-assassination conspiracy plot."

Byleth nods.

"Perhaps we should do some investigation of our own before the Goddess' Rite of Rebirth?" Dimitri says. "See if there are any vulnerable places in the Monastery that may draw a villain's attention while everyone is distracted by religious frivolities."

With another slight chuckle, the professor runs a hand through his murky green hair.

"It seems our mission for the week just took a bit of a detour, Dimitri."


	8. (Don't Fear) The Reaper

_**Before I start this chapter, I wanted to say that it's dedicated to my real life friend Mimi. She started reading this story recently and suggested I include more fight scenes to play with different character dynamics under pressure.**_

_**Considering the source material is a strategy war game... It was kinda hard to argue with the logic of adding more battles.**_

_**So even though I was going to skip over this section of the plot before, now you all get a bit more content! And I'd expect to find a few more action-oriented scenes slipped in between all the slow-burn fluff as we get further in.**_

_**But also, while I'm at it, thanks to everyone else who's been reading this! All the favorites and views and comments have really encouraged me to keep this up. Seriously, the response has been awesome.**_

**_Now without further adieu..._**

* * *

**Part 1 — Blue Sea Moon**

_Throughout the month of the Blue Sea Moon, Byleth and Dimitri talked to a number of figures across the Monastery in hopes of seeing just what might be worth taking while everyone is distracted from the Archbishop's Rite of Rebirth. Eventually their investigation bore fruit with the discovery that the Holy Mausoleum would be open to the public on the day of the ceremony. There were no guarantees that their suspicions would be confirmed, but Byleth made sure to prepare his students for battle just in case._

_The ceremony would be held on the last Friday of the month, two weeks after Saint Cethleann Day. The four Saints who served alongside Seiros centuries prior are inextricably linked to the holy days now recognized by the Church of Seiros, and statues depicting their visages sit in the back corner of the Cathedral opposite the entrance to the Holy Mausoleum._

* * *

While Archbishop Rhea attended to her duties the night of the Rite of Rebirth, students of the Officers Academy were scattered across Monastery grounds to keep watch for suspicious activity.

However, anyone seeking out the Blue Lions would find them all absent from their posts.

Within the Cathedral at the far end of Garreg Mach, a few students mulled around in dim candlelight. The usual patrons were off attending the ceremony, which left the large place of worship eerily quiet and haunting.

Or it would have, if not for the rhythmic bang that echoed from entryway as Claude, house leader for the Golden Deer, bounced a ball off the floor so it would come back to him after hitting the Cathedral's large double doors.

"A-Are you… Sure that's okay, Claude?" Asks Marianne, who sat respectfully in the second-row church pew on the right side of the room.

"It's not like anyone is around to hear it," calls back a panting, teal-haired Caspar from further in the chamber. He was shadowboxing with iron gauntlets in the open space between the left and right entrances, which were similarly sealed off.

Claude catches the ball and whirls around to flash Marianne a smile.

"I don't think the Goddess will be too upset Marianne. If anything, she'll probably thank me for breaking up the usual monotony with such a cool beat. Don'tcha think?"

Marianne nibbles at her thumb and briefly looks over the back of the pew in front of her to see Hilda lying across the wooden bench. She was completely checked out; focused solely on playing with her two stringy, pink ponytails.

"I suppose…"

Truthfully, everyone found the sound of Claude's ball to be annoying. But there was so little to do that they were reluctant to cut off that meager bit of stimulation.

Then the rightmost door at the main entrance begins to creak open.

Claude gasps and reaches for the glistening steel bow attached to his back. Caspar, Marianne and Hilda all jolt to attention as well and look to the doors.

However, when they see Byleth slipping through the opening, Claude relaxes.

"Oh. Hey there, Teach."

If Byleth showed much emotion, he would clearly be surprised by the loud voice. The professor's posture tensed up to suggest Claude had given him a brief fright, which brought a grin to the green-eyed student as he ran a hand through his scruffy black hair.

In the background, Hilda's head disappears behind the back of her seat as she slumps down again. Caspar runs over to join Claude in the candlelight just as Dimitri slips into the room to stand by Byleth's side.

"Didn't realize faculty were allowed to skip out on the big ceremony tonight," the house leader with a golden shoulder cape remarks. "But you brought your whole crew by the looks of things, so there must be something going down."

Claude laughs seeing the Blue Lion class gathered rank and file behind them.

"Good to see you unharmed," Dimitri says with a nod before shaking his contemporary's hand.

"Yeah." Claude responds, now unable to take his suspicious gaze off the heavily armored group. "Likewise."

While Caspar looks confused at this whole ordeal, scratching at his short-cut hair, Marianne ducks further behind the back of her wooden pew. Byleth notices her apprehension and glances at Dimitri, but the boy is focused on the business at hand.

"Tell me, Claude. Have you or the others seen any sort of activity around here?"

Claude snorts before crossing his arms, bending his body to look at the floor and closing his eyes.

"Have we?" He asks with a dramatic, clearly false sense of curiosity. "I don't know about that. As far as I can tell this posting has been a little…"

He raises his right hand to circle his fingers in the air, trying to get his 'gears turning' so to speak.

"Oh, what's the word?" He trails off, clicking his tongue.

Right on cue, as though the whole thing had been pre-planned, the pink-haired girl again sits up.

"Boring and pointless!" They'd hear her call out before she lies back down. Her words echo throughout the huge, empty space.

Claude snaps his fingers and straightens out with a grin.

"That's it!" He looks back at the church pew. "Thanks, Hilda."

Then he turns his attention back to the Blue Lions, this time letting his goofy, happy-go-lucky exterior fade. He looks pretty exhausted.

"Yeah, but seriously. This place sucks at night and we haven't seen anything."

Byleth and Dimitri look at one another. They pass knowing nods before turning their attention to Claude.

"Well even so," Byleth begins with a slow, monotonous voice. Some might even argue he seemed worried about saying too much. "We have reason to believe there might be some activity in the Holy Mausoleum."

"No way!" Caspar chimes in, incensed by what he perceived to be an accusation. "Nobody could have gotten in, we've had this place on lock for hours! Edelgard even sent Linhardt and I over here because she knew these guys might need extra help."

The professor is confused at the mention of Linhardt, but it doesn't take long to spot the Black Eagles' boy sprawled out on pew across from Hilda and Marianne.

"He fell asleep a while ago," Marianne mutters as she sees Byleth looking around. "I wish I could too, honestly… He makes it look so easy."

"Nonetheless." Dimitri speaks up again, which makes Marianne squeak and try to hide away even more.

Ingrid steps forward, clutching a lance tight.

"We'd still like to investigate if it's all the same," she says.

Byleth nods.

"You all would be welcome to come along. Though there could be trouble."

Claude takes a moment to rub his chin and think it over.

But he's not the first to speak.

"I'm in!" Hilda calls out again, drawing everyone's attention — and surprise.

As soon as she catches on to everyone staring at her for that uncharacteristic eagerness, she scoffs and flips one of her ponytails over her shoulder. "Even fighting would be better than sitting around in the dark doing nothing."

From the line of Blue Lions, Felix snorts.

"Never thought I'd say this, but for once I agree with Goneril there."

Hilda audibly gasps hearing this and then blows the black-haired boy a kiss, giggling. The gesture makes him roll his eyes, clearly regretting speaking up.

"Let's just get going already," Felix grumbles, bending his left hand to his hip.

Claude casually shrugs.

"Yeah. I'm in." He looks back at Caspar, then Marianne. "How about you guys?"

Caspar agrees with a nodding grin, but Marianne takes longer to weigh her options over twiddling fingers. Eventually she laments under what felt like the gaze of a hundred eyes and agrees.

"Perfect!" Claude deftly twirls around on his heels and starts walking toward the back of the Cathedral in one fluid motion. "Let's go on a road trip!"

As the makeshift gang of Golden Deer and Black Eagles students gather together, Claude and Hilda high-five. The full armada of Blue Lions follows along close behind.

When they pass by the front row of pews, however, Annette pauses and looks down at the slumbering Lindhardt.

"Um… Should we really just leave him here?" The small girl asks.

"He can stand guard," Dedue answers with a blunt, clinical assurance as he passes beside her.

Annette doesn't seem entirely satisfied by the answer, but she only looks between the sleeping man and her departing classmates for so long before scampering off.

"He won't really be 'standing' guard Dedue!" She fruitlessly rebuts, getting no argument in return.

Just before they've all disappeared into the back room, Lindhardt snores and curls more of his fluffy green hair into his crossed uniform sleeves.

* * *

The small army of students found trouble afoot as soon as they entered the Holy Mausoleum.

Strange mages were scattered across the forebodingly large burial chamber, which had its high ceiling held up by a number of ornately carved pillars. Some of the masked figures were obscured by the looming shadows those pillars cast when hit by the harsh and hellish orange light that saturated the room via magically burning torches.

At the far end of the chamber, one mage standing over a sealed casket began to bark orders. Byleth immediately recognized him to be the leader and mobilized his forces across three avenues to try and reach the far end as quickly as possible.

Straight down the middle, Caspar leads the charge. He knocks away the forward guards so Ashe and Claude could follow along and begin firing off volleys of arrows to the left and right sides.

That distraction would give their allies a chance to advance without taking fire.

On the left avenue, Ingrid leads the charge. She deftly skates around fireballs thanks to her lithe, agile build and manages to down an opponent with one swift jab.

Another mage threatens to scald the blonde girl while she pulls her lance free, but Annette runs in to cover for her.

"Cutting Gale!" The young mage cries before swiping her arm out like a sword.

She cuts horizontally from left to right, and a thick concentration of air flies out toward their opponent. The gale slices his fireball in half and makes it immediately dissipate before it knocks the mage back with a concussive bang.

"Nice work," Ingrid says as she frees her weapon with a heartier tug. Dedue grunts in agreement as he runs past the two so he can continue the push.

"Thanks!" Annette answers excitedly while pumping her arms. "You've got this too, Ingrid. We can persevere!"

The lance-wielder nods and steels herself thanks to her friend's encouragement. She runs off to join Dedue.

On the right avenue, Sylvain leads the charge. He makes himself known to their opponents by letting out a rallying cry before careening the tip of his lance into a mage. That enemy perishes when the redhead impales him into the side of a pillar.

"Hah. This should be a piece of cake," Sylvain mutters.

His cockiness seemed to get the better of him as a swordsman runs out from the shadows along the side of the room, ready to kill.

However the Goddess was on Sylvain's side. Or, more aptly, Felix was. The black-haired boy easily deflects a lethal strike with his sword before sucker-punching the brute with a gauntlet around his left hand.

The daggers along the gauntlet's knuckles quickly do their work, as evidenced by the groaning swordsman falling limp over Felix's arm. But that doesn't stop Felix from ensuring the job was done by slicing the man's neck before pushing him to the ground.

All of the aggressive energy in his snarl is immediately thrown to Sylvain.

"Maybe try to watch your back for once."

Though Sylvain is briefly stunned at the prospect of almost getting stabbed, he quickly brings a happy-go-lucky smile back.

"Why should I? Clearly you're always watching it for me, Felix."

Felix's orange eyes widen with anger and glint in the light, giving him a malicious look that Sylvain shies away from.

"I won't always be, idiot. You just got lucky that I was going this way."

"Come on you don't mean that." Sylvain spins his lance to a vertical position, and then bangs the base onto the floor. "You'll always be there for me and you know it, Felix. I'll obviously do the same for you!"

Felix scoffs with disgust and rolls his eyes.

"I think I'd rather have literally anyone else looking to protect me over you. Dying because you got distracted by some floozy sounds like the worst possible end."

"How coarse of you!" Sylvain puts a hand to his heart. "I would never get distracted in a life-or-death situation."

"All you do is get distracted, Sylvain. If it weren't for the rest of us you'd—"

The inevitable insult is cut off as Hilda runs up and flips into the air between the bickering boys with an assertive grunt. As she comes down she kicks a second swordsman to the ground, and then plunge her axe into his chest with the follow-through as she lands on her feet.

She looks back at the gawking pair while pulling her weapon free of its victim and flips a ponytail over her shoulder with her free hand.

"Are you two really going to let me do all the work out here?" She asks with a bit of an intentionally naïve-sounding twang to her voice.

Sylvain lets out a bemused scoff.

"Only if you're going to keep looking that good while you do it, Hilda."

When she starts giggling at the compliment, Felix returns to his neutral state of general annoyance and begins to make his way further into the mausoleum.

"What did I say?" He grumbles, his sword tip shrilly grinding against the ground.

Back in the central avenue, Dimitri and Byleth stayed a few paces behind the pair of archers alongside Mercedes and Marianne. They directed the clerics on who to heal with their Physic magic from a distance, that way the army could stay in tip-top shape.

"Professor!"

Byleth looks out toward the battlefield to find a panicked Annette racing back.

As the other three look up to find her skidding to an exhausted, breathless halt, Mercedes frowns.

"Annie? What's the matter?"

"We… We've got… Trouble…" She says, labored with her hands on her knees.

Just as she brings up the matter, a spine-tingling whinny reverberates all around the mausoleum; as though a beast was rising up from the fires of hell to meet them.

To be honest, that was not too far off.

A cavalier was racing down the middle avenue at break-neck speed, threatening to immediately smash the front line Caspar had secured. But to simply call the approaching figure a cavalier was not doing him justice. The stocky rider was wrapped in a cocoon of pitch-black metal and spikes, with a skull-shaped, devil-horned mask that betrayed no hint of humanity existing underneath. The only open piece of the outfit was its eye sockets, but those only betrayed voids that glorified the malignant red glint of his pupils.

"The Death Knight…" Mercedes mutters, frozen with fearful wide-eyes.

Byleth looks to her curiously, while Dimitri is quick to raise his lance.

"I've heard rumors of this 'Death Knight,'" the prince remarks with a snarl. "A reaper that's been wreaking havoc and kidnapping young girls."

Byleth is surprised that such rumors have thus far evaded his ears.

The Death Knight's horse is armored in the same material as its rider, but it did not appear to be weighed down in the slightest. Its speed was great, even though each heavy gallop sounds like it could break through the tile flooring at any moment.

His steed also wears a mask with two spiked horns jutting out the back while two more bend in front of its mouth like a pair of insect's mandibles —perfect for goring any opponent. When the Death Knight spurs the animal it cries out again, and another demonic call rings out over the battlefield. All of the metal around the horse's head left its sounds muffled with a metallic edge, but at the same time Byleth could tell something was amplifying the noise so it would resonate further.

Caspar runs off to the left to hide with Dedue and Ingrid, while Ashe races back toward the group helmed by Dimitri and Byleth.

But Claude is bolder. He stands his ground and nocks another arrow, letting it loose with hopes of knocking the imposing rider off his steed.

The arrow bounces harmlessly against the Death Knight's helmet.

After Claude's arrowhead twangs against the metal, the Death Knight laughs. His voice is raspy and warped to an inhuman level; his laugh is hearty and full.

Instead of ramming into Claude, the Death Knight slows and then stops his charge by rearing his horse onto its hind legs; after which it lands its forelegs with an intensity that does crack the ground. The Death Knight's bisected scarlet cape, which looked like fire as he raced forward, settles onto his back.

"Like moths to a flame." The Death Knight growls, his voice also amplified to chill his opponent's spines.

He raises his weapon — a large black scythe — and it lights up with ghastly purple and pink flames. The energy is blasted out in a flash as he thrusts the pointed tip of the scythe's shaft toward Claude.

Claude just manages to dodge out of danger, his yellow cape singed.

"I'm getting a really disturbing vibe from that guy…" He says. "No one go near the evil-looking knight, OK?"

"I agree," Byleth remarks before looking at Annette. "You're our heaviest long-range hitter. Knock him down to size."

The orange-haired girl smiles at the compliment and nods.

"Don't worry Professor, I won't let you down!"

She runs out toward the Death Knight, passing by Ashe on the way. Taking a strong stance, she throws out a pair of Cutting Gales.

The pitch-black cavalier raises his free arm and easily blocks the wind magic. Each gale clangs against his armor more effectively than Claude's arrows, but dissipates without any serious damage done.

Then he raises his scythe, and it starts burning with darkened pastel flames.

"Annette, look out!" Ashe cries.

But Annette is frozen in fear, the sickle of fire reflecting in her large blue eyes. The Death Knight launches his counterattack, and his energy blast strikes her right in the chest, sending the small girl flying back with a pained yelp.

Ashe tries to catch Annette and is knocked to the floor. He cushions her fall, but she writhes in his arms and repeatedly cries out as the magical flames cling to her chest.

"Annie!" Mercedes squeals as she and Marianne run to Annette.

The grey-haired boy shifts to his knees so he can hold up the girl's head as the two clerics quickly get to work extinguishing the flames and healing her wound.

"Don't worry Annette, we've got you." Ashe mutters.

The Death Knight laughs and rears back on his horse again.

"You will all face judgment for your insolence," he says. Each word slithers out to claw into his opponents and drag them to hell.

Byleth snarls and draws his steel sword.

"Damnit… Forget the one-off attacks. Swarm him!"

Dimitri readily agrees and starts rushing toward the Death Knight, but Claude is the first to attack — even though he sounds less than pleased.

"What did I just say? Evil-looking knight? C'mon."

The archer starts trading projectiles with the Death Knight. Arrows continue to bounce harmlessly off of his armor, but Claude is a good enough shot that his attacks are a distracting nuisance. The Death Knight launches all of his counterattacks at the Golden Deer's house leader, as if trying to swat a fly.

That gives Dimitri the chance to get a solid stab at the cavalier, who quickly doubles back and swipes his scythe to knock the new combatant away.

Dimitri manages to catch the curved blade by pushing his weapon into the crevice where the scythe connects to its shaft. The Death Knight raises his head, clearly surprised by the strength this lanky blond boy exuded.

"You monster!" Dimitri hisses.

The Death Knight scoffs, ignoring the arrows that continue to pelt his helmet.

"It seems you're the one concealing a monster, boy."

Before Dimitri can respond, Caspar runs up from behind the Death Knight and leaps onto one of the chinks in his horse's armor. The shorthaired boy wraps one arm around the Death Knight's stomach and starts punching his back with his right hand.

"How do you like that?" Caspar yells as his gauntlet clangs against the armor.

"Pesky children…" The Death Knight looks over his shoulder and tries to grab Caspar with his free hand, all while Dimitri keeps his weapon locked in place.

Dedue soon joins in on the assault, slamming his axe into the horse's armor. Even though the animal whines uncomfortably, it doesn't move without its owner's say.

"Your training has been wasted if it takes so many whelps to even begin to immobilize me," the Death Knight remarks with a malicious chuckle. "It would do you well to submit to my culling. Eliminating the weak links will strengthen your herd."

Dimitri winces as he feels the Death Knight pushing hard against him, the sickled blade coming ever closer to his scalp.

He looks back at the group around Annette and calls out:

"Marianne!"

She yelps and scrambles to her feet, tense while at attention.

"We need your magic to sap his strength!"

Marianne's eyes widen and her hands start to shake as she realizes the fate of her allies was in the balance — and she was the only one who could tip the scales.

"Do it," Mercedes says. Marianne looks to her. "I've got Annie, don't worry."

The nervous girl swallows hard before meekly nodding.

She scampers away from the fallen mage and holds out both hands.

"Nosferatu…" She mutters under her breath.

A thin green aura condenses around the cavalier. It starts to siphon away from him in long, wispy strands that sink into her palms. The Death Knight snarls as he feels his energy drain away, and that dynamic shift is evident as Dimitri begins pushing back.

Having let his students lock down the demonic foe, Byleth finally joins the fray. He runs to the pile of bodies and leaps up the horse's armor much like Caspar did, but on the opposite side. The instructor stands on the saddle behind its rider so he can plunge his blade into the Death Knight's shoulder.

Byleth angles his attack perfectly so that it slips through a chink in the armor. The Death Knight cries out as his flesh underneath is pierced.

The villain's glinting red glare meets Byleth's emotionless stare. For just a moment, there was nobody else in the room.

Byleth hardly notices as a fuzzy purple aura begins to encapsulate his armor.

By the time he does notice, the Death Knight puffs out his chest and looses a wild roar. The aura around his armor expands out rapidly. Every individual piled up around him is knocked away, suffering scrapes and bruises as they tumble across the floor.

Once he's free of assailants, the Death Knight looks at the sword hilt jutting out of his shoulder. Without a word he grasps the blade and pulls it free. It clatters against the floor when he tosses it aside, leaving a splattering of blood behind.

There was a human underneath the armor. Now everyone knew it.

"I didn't expect to encounter someone like you," the Death Knight hisses, his eyes glaring down at Byleth.

"How fortunate."

He rears back and turns his horse toward the crypt at the end of the mausoleum.

The ghastly rider only gallops so far before he and his steed disappear in a cloud of black mist. When it dissipates, all that was left behind is a talisman charged with dark magic. It was as though the figure were an apparition all along.

Byleth slowly rises to his hands and knees, and then looks around to ensure his students were okay. Though almost everyone involved with the scuffle against the Death Knight was groaning as they tried to rise, nobody seemed to be in critical condition.

"Professor?"

He hears Mercedes' soft voice call to him and gives her his attention.

Annette appeared to be through the worst of it. She was passed out in Ashe's arms, but there was no indication she was still in pain.

Mercedes knelt beside her with her hands folded in prayer as she looked to Byleth for guidance.

"What now?" She asks, looking a bit apprehensive.

As the instructor glances around the room again, he finds everyone back on their feet. Dimitri approaches with the discarded steel sword, which he presents lay across both hands as though it were a national treasure.

"We are awaiting your orders, Professor."

It takes Byleth a moment to get his thoughts together. His strategy had not been perfect. Annette was injured, and so many others took a heavy hit trying to bog down the Death Knight. Yet… Everyone still looked to him for guidance.

It was… Comforting.

Byleth offers the Blue Lions house leader a slight smile before standing up and taking his weapon back.

"Mercedes, Ashe. You two get Annette back out to the infirmary," he begins. They agree and bring the small girl over their shoulders to drag her out.

"Everyone else, march on the leader. Let's put an end to this."


	9. Misery loves Company

**I know I started the last chapter with an author's note, but I have to drop a quick acknowledgement to Cosmic Sky [ID: 4306679]. They leave a lot of nice comments on this story, one of which directly led to elements of discussion in this chapter.**

_**They're also a damn good writer, and I wouldn't be surprised if you saw me mention them again as a point of inspiration for certain plot points later on.**_

* * *

**Part 1 — Horsebow Moon**

_Instead of finding the body of Seiros in the Holy Mausoleum's crypt, the Western Church defectors unearthed the Sword of the Creator: A Heroes' Relic once wielded by the King of Liberation that was believed to be inert due to Nemesis not passing his crest to any heir. Yet the Professor of the Blue Lions could wield and utilize the ancient weapon, leading to a decisive victory. With this knowledge, Professor Hanneman — the world-renown Father of Crestology — determined that Byleth's previously unrecognizable crest was, in fact, Nemesis' Crest of Flames._

_Byleth would receive a crash course in the potential dangers of his new, powerful weapon during the Verdant Rain Moon when he and his students were assigned to retrieve House Gautier's Heroes' Relic from Sylvain's disowned brother Miklan. Having lost his inheritance because he wasn't born with a crest, Miklan formed a gang of bandits and stole the Lance of Ruin._

_During their encounter at Conand Tower, the lance's power grew malevolent in the hands of a non-crest bearer and turned Miklan into a terrifying Black Beast. The Blue Lions succeeded in stopping the rampaging beast and retrieving Sylvain's birthright, but at the cost of Miklan's life._

_Yet there was no time to celebrate or mourn, as upon their return Byleth was assigned to help find Seteth's sister Flayn, who had been kidnapped in the night by a familiar reaper._

* * *

The air around Garreg Mach was growing tenser by the day. It seemed as though the school year itself had been cursed from the offset, and students were beginning to notice. There were an exhaustive number of major, tumultuous events happening month after month: Lonato's revolt, the invasion during Rhea's Rite of Rebirth, House Gautier's Relic being stolen and now a rash of kidnappings that reached as high as the Archbishop's right hand.

No doubt it was hard to focus on advancement exams with the myriad of other stressors rearing their heads. Some were even beginning to question whether the upcoming Battle of the Eagle and Lion would continue as planned.

But one positive thing this cursed year had done was foster a closer community.

The Dining Hall was bustling more than it had ever been on a Sunday afternoon. Usually students used their free days to travel and take care of business in nearby towns; now they relished in the opportunity to break bread with one another, ignore the evils of the world and ensure their friends were still safe.

Kitchen staff — assisted by the young, fair-haired Lysithea's insatiable sweet tooth — worked overtime to pump out bowl after bowl of Peach Sorbet. The fruit was in season, and a ravenous mass of bodies was eager to take advantage.

Students were standing over their peers just to get their hands on the seasonal treat, making the communal chamber feel fuller than ever. Near the door into the Entrance Hall, Sylvain tried stealing a spot by sitting in Ingrid's lap.

It was all fun and games until she retaliated by unearthing the childhood memory of him flirting with her grandmother, which drew rancorous laughter at his expense.

From the far back corner seat across the hall from that carefree laughter, Marianne sat hunched over her bowl of sorbet. Her typically sullen expression was brimming with a smile as she ate in peaceful silence, all on her own.

She didn't mind that no one appeared to want the open seat beside her.

But soon enough a familiar voice arose from behind, suggesting the end of her ever-coveted solitude.

"Marianne?"

When the voice broke her trance, the blue-haired girl accidentally dropped her spoon into the bowl. She straightened her posture as it clattered against the porcelain goblet and looks over her shoulder with a hand covering her mouth to hide the over-indulgent bite that now threatened to asphyxiate her.

It was Dimitri. Of course it was.

Marianne tilts her head back slightly to hard swallow the sorbet, and then lightly pants as she brings her hand down to wipe it off on her skirt.

"Oh. Yes?"

The blond prince offers a gentle smile.

"May I sit here? There isn't another open spot."

"Um…" Marianne looks back at her food and nods. It would be rude to say no, even if she preferred the rare opportunity to be alone in public. "You may."

As Dimitri takes the open chair, Marianne scoots to the opposite edge of her seat. If she moved the chair entirely it would obviously squeak against the floorboards, otherwise she would have tried.

"My apologies for not picking a better time to ask," Dimitri remarks with a slight chuckle. "You were awfully engrossed in that sorbet. I don't know that there would have been a better time."

Though his tone was clearly full of jest, the sentiment makes Marianne's stomach churn. He had seen her pigging out… Eating like a beast.

How embarrassing.

"I like this dish," she mumbles while her cheeks flare up. "It was my father's favorite…"

"Was it?" Dimitri looks to her with a curiously raised eyebrow, but quickly looks back to his dessert when he sees her trying to collapse into herself.

"Yes. I don't really want to talk about it, though."

Marianne picks her spoon up again, but uses it to push the remaining sorbet around to each part of the goblet instead of eating. The prince does his best to focus on his dish, but only gets a bite in before turning his attention back to her.

"I used to eat this quite often as a child myself. We don't have many fruitful harvests in Faerghus on account of the soil, but peaches have always been a popular import."

She doesn't respond beyond a vague half-nod. All of her energy is spent pushing around the slurry of the half-eaten sugary dessert.

His small talk was falling flat, and Dimitri did not know how to proceed.

For a little while he goes back to eating. However, he only gets about three bites in before the awkward air settling between them became too much.

"I'm sorry… I should have eaten in my quarters," Dimitri says while pushing his dish aside. "I know you asked me to stay away from you."

Marianne feels her chest ache when she hears that. She looks up from her food and holds a hand out to stop Dimitri before he stands.

"No, it's fine." She puts her hand down on the table, watching him nod and settle back into the seat before continuing.

"I don't mean to be rude, Dimitri. But that request…" Marianne gently nibbles at her lower lip, trying to come up with the words. "When you said you didn't regret risking your own life…"

"About that." She's surprised when he interrupts her, but doesn't stop him. "I apologize for whatever foolish thing I said to upset you, truly. But I don't believe I can continue to uphold the agreement."

Marianne's eyes widen behind the shade of her bangs.

"Y-You… Can't?"

He shakes his head.

"I've spoken with the Professor on the matter, and we're in agreement."

Dimitri cautiously reaches out and rests his broad, calloused palm on top of her more demure hand. He can feel her tense underneath him, but her lips are glued shut.

"If you believe your life is unworthy of being saved, then you are mistaken Marianne. I cannot allow any of my comrades to forfeit their lives and push me away."

His words bounce around in her head, but they sound alien no matter how long she mulls them over. It was wrong. All wrong. She thought she had made that clear enough before, but apparently not.

Trying to swallow the lump of nerves caught in her throat, Marianne looks to one of the lit candelabra that adorned the Dining Hall tables. It seemed odd to her that they were being used even while bright, white daylight poured in through arched windows all around the room… But they were aesthetically pleasing if nothing else.

Maybe she could burn her hand on the flame to get out of this conversation.

"It's just… There is only misfortune for anyone who comes near me."

"Misfortune?"

"I'm afraid so." Marianne closes her eyes and tries to scrunch her hand into a fist, which gives Dimitri the hint to pull away the hand on top of it. "Especially for those with complete disregard for their own safety."

Her voice came out somewhat hoarse, as though she were a hundred miles away. The prince recognized her energy.

"If you're trying to tell me I should be more concerned for my own safety, I suppose I could improve in that regard."

He ends that thought with a brief chuckle, but finds no joy in return.

"As for you causing misfortune," he continues, voice falling to a serious, genuine octave. "I think that's far from the truth. In fact, I find you to be a lucky charm of sorts."

"Me? Lucky?" Marianne's knee-jerk reaction to that statement had her voice crack, after which she looks down in embarrassment. Her cheeks run red again. "I'm sorry, but I don't agree with that at all."

The smile Dimitri had grown seeing her flush falters as she continues.

"My entire life up to this point has been nothing but a string of unfortunate events."

The prince shakes his head while resting a hand on her shoulder.

"But misfortune finds us all. Perhaps those around you have suffered or even perished, but look at you." He leans his head in a bit to try and catch her downward gaze with a smile, but she looks the other way. "You're still here, alive and well."

"That's…"

She trails off trying to come up with a response, and Dimitri capitalizes on this.

"Think about this Marianne. If you were not here, you could not have accompanied the Blue Lions on the few quests you have." He leans back and crosses his arms. "Were that the case, both Felix and Annette likely would not be here."

Somehow the compliment makes Marianne look glummer.

"I don't…"

"In fact, if you had not been in the Holy Mausoleum that night we encountered the Death Knight, I would have been scalped."

Marianne rapidly shakes her head no and speaks with a little more authority.

"Mercedes could have easily healed you all and cast Nosferatu, and she would have done it all far more effectively than me."

Dimitri clicks his tongue as he clears the blond hair falling in front of his eyes.

"We could argue the semantics of who is more 'effective' for days, Marianne. That isn't the point." He leans against the table and tilts his head down to try and catch her gaze again. This time he succeeds. "You aren't superfluous because of Mercedes. For instance: Were you not at the mausoleum, she would have to choose between saving me from the reaper's scythe or Annette from her wounds."

Marianne felt a chill down her spine as she anticipated the next bit, but that didn't make it any easier to hear.

"I would not have advocated for myself."

The blue-haired girl takes a deep breath through her nose.

"Hence… I'm good luck…" She reluctantly acknowledges.

Dimitri smiles. "In my book, anyway."

She understood his logic well enough, but that didn't seem to brighten her mood. As she looks at what was now a meagerly filled cup of fruit juice, lost in thought, Dimitri clears his throat to pull her back.

"It doesn't feel good, does it… To be the one left behind? You feel guilt for not dying along with the others."

A sharp pain stabs through her heart and her breath evaporates. Never before had she heard someone express so clearly what plagued her mind at almost all hours, even when she wasn't fully conscious of it. It's like he could see right through her.

Marianne had never felt so… Intimate. So vulnerable.

"H-How did you know?"

"You and I are the same," he says plainly. "I believe I told you once… Maybe you should fear being cursed with misfortune for coming near me."

Hearing his comment sends her right back to the first day at the Officers' Academy when they were standing out in front of the classrooms talking. When he was the first person to notice her regardless of any social contract. When she felt like she might have made a friend — with someone as insane as the Kingdom's crown prince.

Those thoughts bubble up from her throat as a giddy little chuckle that melts the sadness from her face, leaving a sweet, secure smile in its place.

Dimitri looks a little shocked at this, but his speech becomes more jovial.

"Ah, a smile and a laugh. Coming from you, that's a rarity." His face settles into a contented smile. "This must be my lucky day."

"I just find the idea amusing," she says while twirling a loose strand of her hair. "It's strange to think that someone like you could have anything in common with me."

"Is it so terrible a thought?" He asks with half a chuckle cutting the punctuation.

"No, no. It's not that. It actually makes me happy." She looks up at him, beaming for the first time in… Ever? "As though there's finally someone who understands how I truly feel."

In spite of the raucous of the Dining Hall around them, Dimitri and Marianne remained in their own personal bubble of conversation for some time after. A few members of the Blue Lions and Golden Deer passed glances upon the two, but they were none the wiser.

When he slid the remainder of his Peach Sorbet before her, she was more than happy to finish the treat.


	10. Hermit and the Beast

**Part 1 — Wyvern Moon**

_Officers Academy staff would come to find the missing Flayn in a dungeon hidden below the eastern wing of the Monetary. The dungeon's entrance was discovered in the quarters of the Academy's enigmatic fencing instructor Jeritza, whose previous antisocial behavior on all subjects apart from sparring became more sensible with the reveal of his moonlighting as the Death Knight._

_The Death Knight critically wounded Professor Manuela on the night Byleth and the Blue Lions class stormed his booby-trapped domain to rescue Flayn. For a reason Seteth was cagey to reveal, the Flame Emperor who commands the Death Knight valued Flayn's blood. However, during the students' romp through the claustrophobic space a second girl was also found: Monica, a missing Black Eagles student from the previous year._

_Jeritza could not be found anywhere on Monastery grounds afterward._

_With the girls' rescue, life appeared to return to normal in Garreg Mach. Monica was reintegrated into the new Black Eagles class, and Flayn was conscripted into Byleth's Blue Lion's class to train for future attacks — much to Seteth's chagrin. The energy level of all students began to build into a fervor as the traditional Battle of the Eagle and Lion approached; promising normalcy in the guise of a three-way battle that pays tribute to Faerghus achieving independence from the Adrestian Empire._

* * *

"Please Bernie, you must come out and eat something!"

Dorothea, the wavy-haired Black Eagles' songstress, laments as she leans against the first-floor dormitory door of her reclusive purple-haired classmate.

"No!" Bernadetta squeals, her voice muffled by the mahogany door. "If I come out, Edelgard is going to make me train for the mock battle, and… Um… I-I don't even want to think about it!"

"I wouldn't worry about that," Dorothea mumbles under her breath. "Edie's too busy with that new redheaded parasite of hers."

Byleth stood behind the Black Eagles' only student of common blood with his arms crossed. He had been called in out of fear for Bernadetta's health, given his uncanny ability to make her feel somewhat more sociably comfortable.

That's what happens when you take the time to pass a few pleasantries through a wall every day, it seemed.

"We can escort you to the Dining Hall if you'd like," Byleth offers in his monotonous delivery.

Dorothea seems pleased by the idea; she flashes him a thumbs-up and a grin.

They both quickly go away as Bernadetta responds.

"No! No really, that's okay! I wouldn't want to… You know… Be a burden." Dorothea huffs as she looks back toward the muffled voice. "Perhaps you could just… Bring me lunch? Yes! Yeah, that sounds great! I get to stay in my room and also eat."

The songstress groans and rests her forehead against the door.

"I brought you lunch last week when you didn't want to come out for your exam, remember? I'm not doing it again Bernie!"

"Manuela tells me you did quite well on that by the way," Byleth adds, blatantly trying to play to her good side. "Congratulations."

"Oh!" Bernadetta's surprise leads into a long silence, during which the two people outside can hear her rustling things around. "Well… Um… Thank you!"

"I'm sure you'll be quite a challenge to get around for my students," he continues.

Dorothea steps aside to let Byleth take point at the door.

"But… But I don't… Want to fight you guys…" Bernadetta says at a much lower octave. "Isn't it silly to pit us against one another?"

The two outside look at one another. Dorothea's expression has lightened to surprise, and Byleth is implied to be doing the same despite nothing changing.

"It's just a training exercise, Bernie." As Dorothea looks toward the door again, her voice is gentler. "We're not actually out to hurt each other."

Another bout of silence follows.

"I… I know but… Um…"

They can hear her whining while trying to work through her own thoughts.

The green-haired professor sighs and lightly raps his knuckles against the door.

"Listen Bernadetta, I understand your hesitation. I'm sure Manuela won't argue if you really want to sit out the battle. She'll be sitting out with her injuries, and will probably appreciate the company."

Dorothea leans back to watch Byleth do his work and clasps her hands at her chest.

"I'll even set up a few extra training sessions for you to make up for it if need be."

While that offer is punctuated by another long moment of silence, they can hear Bernadetta sniffle on the other side before coming back to life with a stutter.

"T-Thank you, Professor." She says. Her voice was slightly louder, which suggested she was up against the door on the other end. "I'll think about it!"

"Good. Let me know what you decide."

Byleth knocks against her door again before stepping away.

"And please, come out to eat with Dorothea. She could use the company."

He offers the commoner a slight smile. She runs up and gives him a tight hug in return.

"Thank you," she mouths when pulling away.

Byleth nods before turning and heading off into the Monastery grounds again.

Fódlan was deep into the fall season now, and the chilly breeze it brought kept more students indoors than usual. Those who weren't sequestered inside adorned extra layers — scarves, jackets and the like. Every time one of those wandering kids offered a polite greeting or wave, Byleth readily returned the gesture. He had become a fairly popular figure around Garreg Mach on account of the many exploits the Blue Lions had endured under his leadership.

That being said, Byleth was happy to see his crowd of casual admirers diminishing with the season. He wasn't opposed to returning their greetings, but the long-time mercenary still preferred quiet time to mull over his thoughts alone.

As alone as he could have been, anyway.

"Isn't that intriguing?"

He was so used to the childlike voice, unbefitting its thoughtfully philosophical droning, that he didn't have to look over to know Sothis had appeared.

But when he does look, he'd find the ethereal girl keeping pace by mimicking his walk cycle; despite the fact that she was walking on thin air to be level with him.

"Little miss hat back there seems to have picked up on the same thing as we have," Sothis remarks while adjusting the crown on her head as though it were Dorothea's cap. "Regarding that girl of suspicious ilk."

"I don't know about that," he replies.

A few individuals passing by the fishing pond offer Byleth strange looks as he seemingly talks to himself, but the professor is none the wiser.

"Dorothea seemed more upset by Edelgard's time being monopolized than she did about Monica specifically."

"I don't quite see the distinction there, Byleth." Sothis begins to casually brush her hair out to the right as she walks above the crystalline water of the pond. "Her presence is causing odd disruptions in the air around the school. Edelgard's attention being taken up is just one symptom of that."

He closes his eyes and nods, curiously scratching at his hair.

"I suppose so. But I see no reason to expend energy worrying about her for now."

"Too busy worrying about that Flayn girl?" Sothis' tone shifts to be slightly more teasing, and she starts to float in front of Byleth so he can see her grinning. "I've noticed you pouring over her files quite a bit recently."

"She's a new student," he brushes her off with a shrug. "It would be wrong not to prepare for her needs specifically."

"I get the feeling there's more than that." Sothis' grin only widens as she gets more in his face. "I know you find her mysterious and interesting after that whole exchange about your shared youthful appearances."

"I won't argue with that."

"And I bet if your heart beat, it would be that much more obvious how exciting you find the idea of stealing her away from that overbearing brother!" She giggles.

While Byleth opens his mouth to retort, he has no real chance to respond before a chipper voice rings out from behind the ethereal girl.

"Greetings, Professor!"

He stops and leans over slightly to catch a glimpse of the new individual without Sothis' obstruction. But of course it wasn't a new voice at all.

It was the Gatekeeper, standing at his post in front of the Entrance Hall with that happy-go-lucky grin exposed under the deep brim of his metal cap. His posture was straightened as he salutes the passing faculty member.

As usual, Byleth was quick to offer a raised-hand greeting in return.

"Nothing to report?" He asks, anticipating the usual schtick.

"Actually, I do have something to report today!"

The Gatekeeper relaxes his form and takes a step forward, as if he were about to tell Byleth a secret. However that air of secrecy is undermined as he keeps the same loud, high-energy tone the entire way through.

"Miss Marianne von Edmund was wandering the marketplace earlier, and she asked me to keep an eye out for you. Apparently she'd like to discuss something."

"Really?" Byleth raises an eyebrow and rubs his chin. "Interesting."

"Yeah!" The Gatekeeper grins. "She didn't say that in nearly as many words. Girl's awfully quiet, you know? But she did tell me she would linger near the stables."

Byleth lets out a soft snort through his nose.

"She's better when you get to know her." As he starts to walk away, he offers another raised hand to the genial guard. "Thanks."

"Of course, anytime!" The Gatekeeper enthusiastically waves goodbye. "Good luck at Gronder Field!"

* * *

As advertised, Byleth would find Marianne scoping out Garreg Mach's equine stables. Specifically he'd find her petting one of its resident's manes. The war-trained animal was calm at her touch, and even seemed to draw a smile from the melancholy girl as it nuzzled into her palm.

He had to take a moment to appreciate the sight before approaching.

"Marianne."

The blue-haired girl gasps as she turns toward Byleth's heavy footsteps, and then rests a hand over her heart. Typical behavior, though he would have figured she'd be used to this sort of thing by now.

"Professor. Hello." Once her breathing is relaxed, she offers him a polite bow. "I've been looking for you — I'd like to ask for your advice."

"So I've heard," he responds while trying to pet the same horse she had been tending to. It snorts aggressively and backs into the enclosure.

That draws a giggle out of Marianne, which Byleth promptly ignores.

"How can I help?"

Her brief moment of joy settles into that usual deep, contemplative examination of her own feet. She brings a hand up to adjust her hair, but somehow manages to let more of it cover her eyes in the process.

"I don't think I want to take part in the Battle of the Eagle and Lion this month."

Byleth could feel the déjà vu throb against his skull.

"After all the time I've spent assisting your class, it would feel wrong to do battle against them," she continues, voice growing meeker with each thought. "And I'm still not convinced it would be wise to keep me on the battlefield in the first place."

"It's like talking in circles with all this self-consciousness," Sothis remarks like a devil in Byleth's ear as she reappears beside him. "Don't you ever bore of it, girl?"

The instructor wisely ignores his shoulder devil and keeps his full attention on Marianne. He contemplates her questioning while crossing his arms.

"Yet you don't feel right leaving your housemates to their own devices."

Marianne agrees with a nod.

"I feel like I'm such a burden if I don't help Claude and the others, but it would also be uncomfortable if I do help." When the girl looks up at him, Byleth can see a wet gloss over her eyes behind all that hair. "What do you think Professor? Would it be wrong of me to avoid the battle?"

Byleth closes his eyes and hums softly, thinking things over. As he does, Sothis leans in to whisper in his ear.

"If you tell her no, it will be a much easier fight for your class."

He dismisses her by raising a hand to swat the air beside him. Marianne looks momentarily confused, but doesn't have the chance to ask before he speaks again.

"I think you should be true to yourself and your desires, Marianne." He offers a sympathetic look — as much as his stony face was capable of. "I can't make the choice for you. But if you feel it would be right to avoid combat, I wouldn't argue."

The girl's warm smile blooms under his thoughtful gaze.

"Of course. I appreciate that, Professor."

Marianne bows again, and then Byleth returns the gesture with a slight bow of his own. Feeling his job was done, the green-haired man starts circling around her so he can make his way off in the direction of the graveyard.

But before he gets too far, someone tugs gently at one of his jacket's loosely hanging sleeves.

"Um, Professor?" Marianne squeaks out before pulling her hand away and clearing her throat of its hoarseness. "I-I have a request. It's about your class… I, um…"

He turns to face her again with an eyebrow raised, and preempts her thought.

"Are you asking if we have an open space for you?"

She nods quickly; glad to not have to spit it out on her own.

"It's just… I feel like you and Dimitri understand the way I think better than Professor Hanneman and Claude. Not that I have anything against them necessarily, but…" She trails off again. "I believe I'd learn better with you."

Byleth smiles. Just a bit.

"I'd be happy to let you transfer, if that's what you truly desire. We can talk to Hanneman about making the arrangements."

All of Marianne's nerves evaporate in an instant, and she seems more chipper than… Well, than he had ever seen her be.

"Huh? Oh! Thank you!" She nods again and gently clasps his right hand with both of hers. "I-I should be more comfortable once I get to know the other Blue Lions better but… I'm very happy you agree!"

If he didn't know her better, Byleth might have expected a hug similar to Dorothea's earlier. Instead she simply runs off to find Professor Hanneman, holding that skirt up over her feet again.

"You sure do have a thing going with these quiet girls, huh _Professor_." Sothis teases with a little extra weight on the title.

He ignores the jab, watching Marianne disappear into the Monastery alongside his mouthy peanut gallery.

Maybe he would get used to her being there someday.


	11. Battle of the Eagle and Lion — Part 1

**_The multi-faceted nature of covering three armies duking it out led to a bit of an unwieldy writing process for the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. There are shifting perspectives to a whole lot of characters in a lot of different places than usual, and a many of them have not been introduced because of my story so far._**

_** As a result, I talked it over with my editor and we decided the battle would be more palatable if it was split into two chapters.**_

_** I don't want to slow the pace of the story down too much however, so I'm going to be dropping part two as a bonus chapter on Monday while continuing with the plot as usual next Friday! If you're reading this well in the future that distinction won't matter, but I figured I would be upfront on my thought process. **_

_** Enjoy!**_

* * *

**Part 1 — Wyvern Moon**

_Six months after the school year had begun at Garreg Mach, it was time for the future leaders of Fódlan to demonstrate what they had learned through battle: The Battle of the Eagle and Lion._

_The traditional contest would be held at Gronder Field. This fertile area of the Adrestian Empire, now known as the breadbasket of Fódlan while under the domain of House Bergliez, was the setting of much turmoil in the past. Most notably when Saint Seiros defeated the armies of Nemesis, the King of Liberation._

_In order to reach the mock battlefield, students and faculty crossed the Airmid River — a border between the Adrestian Empire and Leicester Alliance — over the Great Bridge of Myrddin. It was a long journey, but once they arrived it would not take long for the three houses to prepare for combat._

* * *

The sounds of battle across Gronder Field were diffused by heavy winds from 400 feet, where Ingrid's Pegasus hovered. She kept the flying white steed as steady as she could while Ashe nervously clung onto its saddle just behind her.

"Are you sure this is okay Ingrid?" He asks in a warbling tone that was exacerbated as Ashe tries to be heard over the wind.

"She seems okay with it! Don't you girl?" Ingrid responds as she pets her Pegasus' mane. "Besides you've got the sharpest eye in our army, Ashe. I couldn't come up with half as good a scouting report as you could from this angle."

"I… I suppose…" The grey-haired boy mutters reluctantly as he tightens his arms around Ingrid's waist before looking down at the ant-sized soldiers running about.

The Battle of the Eagle and Lion had only just begun when Byleth sent the two on this scouting mission. All the houses had been told were each other's starting positions: Blue Lions to the north past a small river, Golden Deer to the southeast in a tree-dotted grove and Black Eagles to the southwest around a fortified hilltop.

How each army utilized those natural defenses was up to their leaders, which made gathering information as invaluable a use of time as it would be during a real war.

From a high altitude, it was easy to see why Gronder Field was chosen as the Academy's mock battleground for this yearly tradition. It was a microcosm of a divided continent, encapsulated in a bowl of sheer cliffs that allowed spectators to see fighting rage on in all parts of the valley at once; as Archbishop Rhea, Seteth and a myriad of other faculty and students did now.

"I'm starting to think you're more cut out for knighthood than I am if this doesn't freak you out," Ashe says as he looks back up at his driver's blonde hair.

This time Ingrid returns his gaze with a teasing scoff.

"Please, Ashe. You know just as well as I do that flying isn't the end-all-be-all of knighthood."

"But it does give you more of a niche in Dimitri's court should you want it."

Ingrid's happier expression falters.

"It's not all about 'want,' Ashe." She clears her throat and looks ahead, trying to get a good look at the Black Eagles' hill. "We've talked about this."

"Oh." The boy's freckles pop out as his cheeks run red. Her sentiment upset him as much as it had the last time they talked about trading off dreams for responsibilities, but he was in no better place to argue the point now. "Right."

A brief silence lingers between the two until Ingrid feels the guilt of shutting her friend down so quickly run up her neck, raising hairs as it goes.

She looks back at him while attempting to bring back her smile.

"If you're really feeling that nervous about finding a place, just remember Kyphon. He never flew on a Pegasus, but his loyalty brought favor with the King. I imagine you of all people can pull the same kind of strings with Dimitri."

Ashe can tell her smile was a cheap facsimile.

But even though the words came from a place of defeat, in which Ingrid believed she would have to live her dreams vicariously through him, he was still comforted by her encouragement.

"Well, I guess you're right." Ashe offers her a warm smile. "Yet I still think—"

The sharp whistle of a feather-ended arrow whizzes by the Pegasus' right wing, leading the animal to start flying about with a panicked whinny. Ingrid turns her more serious-faced attention to calming her steed and getting them back on track.

"We can talk about this later," she says in a commanding tone. "What's on us?"

Ashe already has his eyes glued down on the forested end of the battlefield, where he heard the arrow fly up from.

Before he can say anything, another projectile whizzes past their left wing.

"That was far too quick to be the same person," Ashe remarks as he tightens the grip of his legs. He lets go of Ingrid so he could draw his own bow. "The Golden Deer must have brought two archers."

"Right." Ingrid nods before spurring her Pegasus so it cries out and starts flying. "Good enough for me. I'm taking us down before one of those arrows does."

"I'll cover us!" Ashe nocks an arrow to fire as they descend.

* * *

From the ground, Gronder Field was more of an obstacle course than a continental microcosm. Wars fought hundreds of years ago scarred the ground with man-made barriers to bolster the natural landmarks; the most prominent of which being a series of wooden spike walls running up the northern face of the Black Eagles' hill and a ballista built onto a ziggurat that fortified the rock formation in the center of the map.

However these structures looked as frivolous as playground equipment with the young students of the Officers Academy running about, toys of war at the ready.

There was no better example of this than slight-framed Bernadetta. The typically reclusive purple-haired archer for the Black Eagles was sent to capture the central hill as soon as the battle began. Edelgard knew she could move quickly.

Once she took that advantageous point, Bernadetta began lobbing ballistae fire into the Golden Deer's woods. The Adrestian heiress knew Claude's army had the highest concentration of long-range fighters in the school and wanted them distracted so her more combative forces could advance.

The purple-haired girl mutters to herself while attacking, hoping to stave off the nagging thoughts of potential dangers literally all around her.

"Alright Bernie, doing good." Her voice is raspy as she keeps it down for her personal pep talk. "Just a few more shots and you can go."

She closes her eyes and covers her head after lobbing another projectile into the woods. The loud crash rustles a few trees and sends flocks of birds flying off.

"Nobody's going to… To stab you or… Um… Yeah, you're good! You're all good." A slightly crazed laugh escapes as she scrambles to get another ballista shot. "Soon you can go back to your room and everything will be fine."

While she struggles to drag the giant arrow over to her mounted weapon, an imposing figure in bulky armor crests the top of the ziggurat from the north. His exposed white hair and dark face were glaring above the sleek grey plating.

"Ah!" Bernadetta screams as she drops the encumbering projectile.

She quickly pulls her bow off its strap and backs away from the mountainous man from Duscur. He appeared to be more concerned by her fear if anything, even though his sharp axe was drawn and ready.

An arrow is loosed, but bounces harmlessly off of Dedue's chest armor. He looks down at the barest scuff in the plating with no reaction.

Bernadetta whines fearfully and starts shuddering, her body shutting down. She squats and lets her bow drop to the floor so she can hide her head in her arms.

"Ahhh… P-Please don't hurt me Dedue!"

The armored knight looks over his shoulder and shrugs, and then lets his axe head sink casually to the floor.

"I assure you, I had no intention of doing so."

His voice is gentle and assuring, but does nothing to calm the girl's gentle sobs. Dedue expresses his newfound dismay with a quick glance at Sylvain, Byleth and Flayn as they join him at the top.

"Geez. You have to be so tough on the poor girl, Dedue?" Sylvain teases as he settles next to the armored knight with a pale, boney spear by his side.

"Perhaps my boot steps were too intimidating for a training exercise," Dedue responds with a bit too much of a serious, contemplative tone. Sylvain sighs and pats his shoulder.

Meanwhile, Byleth and his newest student approach Bernadetta. The instructor kneels in front of her, trying to catch her downward gaze.

"It's okay Bernadetta, we're done here."

The purple-haired girl peeks through her fingers toward the calm, nigh-emotionless voice.

"There's no need for us to fight," he continues. "And I certainly don't think we have to capture you."

"And please, do not cry!" Flayn looks down at her with a bubbly smile, hands folded in front of her waist as the twin drill-shaped cones of lime green hair framing her face bounce with every movement. "You fought ever so valiantly. It's quite a shame to see you so upset."

Bernadetta sniffles back her sobs and tries to wipe her face clean before standing up. Her knees were still visibly knocking together.

"I-I'm sorry… Um… I'll just make my leave." She takes a deep bow, trying to hide any fear and embarrassment with her scruffy, unkempt hair. "Good luck Professor."

With that, the archer turns tail and runs down the ziggurat's west-facing stairs so she can make her way off to the Black Eagles' supporters standing around the hilltop. Byleth stands to watch her abscond, a hand on his hip while the other grips the Sword of the Creator on his belt.

"Such a shame," Flayn laments with a sigh. "If her nerves had not gotten the best of her, I would have been happy to let her stay here with us."

Byleth nods in agreement.

Feeling a tap on the shoulder, he soon turns back in the direction of the ballista. Dedue is there, towering over his instructor.

"If you would excuse me, Professor. I would like to join his Highness on the eastern front. It's the only way I can assure his utmost safety."

Byleth agrees with a simple nod and a raised hand. Yet before Dedue can get too far, Ingrid's Pegasus lands near the crowd and drops off Ashe; clearly still shaken-up, with hair blown out by the wind.

"Just be careful on the approach," the blonde rider says. "They've got a couple archers, and I believe we caught some of Lysithea's black magic through the foliage."

"Understood."

Dedue leaves them all with a collected response.

The Professor then looks around at the rest of the group. Ashe takes a few cautious steps to make sure he can walk on land again before commandeering the ballista. Ingrid flies again, looking to circle over the battlefield like a watchful vulture.

Sylvain draws more attention to himself with a few boisterous calls to his friends and teammates, and then moves to the top of the south-facing stairs.

"You guys ready?" He asks with a sharp-toothed grin that elicits a confused look from Flayn, and a blank stare from Byleth. The skeletal Lance of Ruin in his grip is raised skyward, and then the red gem encased at the base of its spear tip flares to life.

"You're not gunna want to miss this."

* * *

At the southern base of Gronder Field's central structure, two cavaliers were doing battle.

Their movements created the shape of a flower, with each gallop away slowing into a trotting curve so they can face one another again. Each petal-shaped change in momentum led the two into yet more jousts, despite the fact that a number of them had resulted in no ground for either side.

That said, each clash of their lances was magnificent in-and-of itself. For a brief moment; with their war cries dulled by the rushing wind that pulled back their orange hair as they raced into combat; they were one — in spite of the richness of their blood.

"Just give up now Leonie," calls Ferdinand as their most recent exchange of blows leaves the Black Eagles' noble moving toward the woods. "You stand no chance against the future prime minister of the Empire!"

His opponent, a lithe commoner from the Golden Deer class with more red-orange features, ducks her head as a fireball flies past.

She pulls her horse onto its hind legs to quick-turn toward Ferdinand while her eyes settle on Dorothea, who was halfway up the Black Eagles' hill.

"Please, I'd be kicking your butt three ways from Sunday if you weren't ganging up on me!"

She twirls her lance in a tight circle using her black-sleeved left arm before starting to chase down her opponent again.

When another fireball comes from the hat-wearing songstress, Leonie runs an evasive maneuver to dodge the magical attack. It continues to fly however, and comes close enough to Ferdinand's ascot that he almost falls off his horse while recoiling.

Leonie laughs at the sight while circling back around, which leaves the noble cavalier snarling at his apologetically waving partner.

"Dorothea!" He calls.

"Sorry Ferdie!" She calls back, a little meeker. "You're very close to each other!"

Before she has the chance to continue the apology, a crack of thunder in the distance draws Dorothea's curious gaze upward.

Sickeningly black clouds were billowing into the skies above from a flashing red light on the central hill. They spread across the clear blue expanse like a crack in a piece of fine china — and as unsettlingly out of place.

More thunder rumbles out of the unnatural storm clouds, and a few arcing streaks of white lightning appear from their murky depths.

When Dorothea looks back down to Earth, she finds the dueling cavaliers just as transfixed on the skies.

It doesn't occur to any of them that it would be wise to steer clear until it was too late. Bolts of lightning rain down from the Ruined Skies at random and cut deep, charred marks into the ground. Both Ferdinand and Leonie's horses are frightened by the weather and start running wild, trying to buck their riders. The songstress seemed mostly out of range, but still falls back on the hillside and covers her head to try and avoid being struck.


	12. Battle of the Eagle and Lion — Part 2

"So, this is the power of the Heroes' Relic from House Gautier?"

Hubert's voice is slight, slithering and diabolical despite coming from a somewhat brutishly large form in a dark cloak befitting a reaper.

He stood beside his liege, Edelgard, in the small fortification of pillars atop the southwestern hill. Together they watch the Lance of Ruin cut through the sky and rain terror down upon Leonie, Ferdinand and Dorothea.

Edelgard has her pale purple gaze focused on the attack, and brushes the white hair from her face with her right hand as the left leans against her downturned axe as though it were a walking stick.

"It's certainly impressive… Though I don't like seeing that kind of energy being wrought against our troops." She briefly glances up at Hubert. "We'll need to balance the scales going forward by finishing that little project of ours."

"Indeed."

Hubert ducks his head down slightly and closes his eyes.

When he begins to hum thoughtfully, Edelgard gives her attention more properly.

"I can't imagine that depth of thought will be healthy for our enemies, Hubert."

"I'm just thinking…" He turns his body to face Edelgard completely and folds both arms behind his back. As if trying to keep their conversation a secret, he leans in so he can speak more quietly by her ear.

"It will obviously do us well to have firepower to match theirs. But what if we put an extra finger on the scale next time?"

"I'm listening."

"Think about it, Lady Edelgard. The might of our Relic would be all the more devastating if we orchestrated our opponents into weakening one another before we need lay the first blow."

"And it would spare us from suffering a blunt of casualties."

As Edelgard begins to play along with the idea, Hubert grows a wicked grin. The Adrestian Heiress can't help but smile warmly in return.

"Devilish as always, Hubert." She taps the metal end of her axe against the stone floor of the open-air structure. "I'll keep the idea in mind for the future."

"Of course," he replies with an icy chuckle. "Only the best for—"

Before Hubert can finish, a whirring discus of air flies past his head and collides into one of the fortification's pillars. The Black Eagles' leader and her vassal gasp as they turn their attention to the wooden walls dotting the hill's northern approach.

In the distance they can see a tiny redhead and a much larger, shapelier blonde poking their heads out.

"Defiant brats." Hubert growls as he raises his right hand, fingers curled inward like jagged claws.

A wispy purple energy amasses between his fingers, which he launches with an aggressive conviction. The aptly named Banshee spell screeches like a pained wail as it flies through the air toward Annette and Mercedes. Both girls manage to duck behind cover before his dark magic explodes against the ground nearby.

"Nice shot," Edelgard lightly teases.

He runs a hand through his oily black hair and immediately begins charging another attack.

* * *

Deep within the sparse woods in the southeast corner of the battlefield, the Golden Deer's resident gentle-giant-turned-roaring-tank slams down his silvery gauntlets.

They just miss his fleet-footed target, a backpedaling Felix with his sword drawn and ropes of hair falling in his face. But the impact of the powerhouse's attack shakes the ground and leaves a small crater in its wake.

"That the best you got, Raphael?" Felix chastises with a hiss, though it was clearly overcompensating for his growing pant.

"Nah, don't worry." Raphael was a mostly genial-looking scruffy blond whose shirt buttons seemed ready to burst as they held back a brick wall. But in that moment, he grins with some malicious pleasure. "We're just getting started."

As the mountainous man advances, he throws punches at Felix.

The Blue Lion's swordsman is successful at jumping out of the way of the spiked knuckles, in spite of the gnarled tree roots that threatened to trip him at any moment.

"Bring it on, I can hunt deer like you any day."

Felix ducks and crouches against the ground to avoid a sidewinder he sees Raphael gearing up. Raphael's swing leaves him momentarily off-balance.

"And boy am I going to enjoy knocking the stuffing out of you."

With that quip, Felix jolts forward and rams his shoulder into Raphael's stomach. The large man stumbles backward and nearly falls. However, Felix doesn't let up. He follows through by cutting a diagonal swipe across Raphael's chest —leaving a minor cut while surprising the warrior enough to send him sprawling onto his back.

There's barely a moment for Felix to revel in his victory, as an arrow flies from a nearby bush and jams into his left thigh.

"Gah!" Felix yelps with a gnash of his teeth as he drops to his knees. "Not this shit again…"

As the Fraldarius Heir clutches the cloth around his new wound, he looks toward the source of the projectile. He knew another was coming soon, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

But luckily, he didn't have to.

Ignatz, a somewhat feminine boy who usually has a wide-eyed splendor for the arts behind his rounded spectacles, is sent flying out of the bush. He lands on the ground with a hard thud and loses his bow. Just behind him comes the imposing metal mass of Dedue; fresh off a shield charge.

Dimitri's vassal rests his large boot on Ignatz' back to keep him down as the boy attempts to stand up again.

"I wouldn't advise that," Dedue says calmly. "The game is over for you, Ignatz."

"Drat…" The downed boy with mint green hair mumbles into the dirt.

Felix looks up at Dedue and nods appreciatively. He receives a similar gesture in turn, though with a fair amount of concern for the bloody arrow puncture.

Yet the swordsman has no interest in addressing the wound.

"You're up," he calls into the tree line. "Time to show them your worst, Boar Prince."

Dimitri runs out of hiding and quickly makes his way through the battleground, intent on finding the head of the Golden Deer house. His lance was gripped hard enough to give the prince white knuckles.

After a few moments of wandering the thin woods and finding nothing, Dimitri is suddenly stopped in his tracks by a smoke ball that explodes at his feet.

The thick gas quickly envelops him, leaving Dimitri coughing as he stumbles into the open air with his left hand waving in front of his face.

As he looks up, he'd see Claude flash a shit-eating grin from atop a high branch.

"Well? Whatcha think?" The Golden Deer house leader asks with a brief laugh. "Pretty effective distraction, eh?"

"It's a cheap trick Claude," Dimitri somehow manages to get out between coughs.

"All's fair in love and war, Your Royalness."

Claude leaps down and lands gracefully on both feet, then holds his arms out.

"I think the real cheap trick was you stealing our cleric away just before this big battle." He crosses his arms and puts on more of a serious expression… That only lasts about a second before he starts rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Though it was an awfully devious, shrewd strategy on behalf of you and Teach. I'm kinda impressed!"

"You say that like it was our decision," Dimitri retorts as he finally starts breathing normally again. "Marianne wanted to change houses. She approached us first."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Dimi." Claude rolls his eyes. "Just be glad Lysithea has a good grasp of healing magic or I would be way more pissed right now."

Claude takes a step back so he can draw his bow.

"Let's just get this over with, shall we? Gotta catch up to Hilda for our plan."

Now back with his full faculties, Dimitri smiles and aims his lance toward Claude's neck.

"I will happily face you, here and now. Do not hold back, Claude!"

* * *

The Golden Deer's pigtailed second-in-command held true to their plan. She was on her own near the top of the Black Eagles' hill, watching as Hubert, Annette and Mercedes trade off magical blasts of energy.

She was awfully lucky for that distraction. It would have been easy to notice her bright pink hair against the green landscape otherwise.

In fact, she'd have to thank Sylvain for giving her the perfect cover to slip past Ferdinand and Dorothea as well.

But that was neither here nor there.

Hilda knew what she had to do, and for once she was excited to take action.

The girl twirls her axe in the air a few times before holding it up over her shoulder, ready to strike down. She runs at Edelgard's back. It was time to finish this battle once and for all.

"Surprise!" She cries out with a jubilant laugh.

Edelgard and Hubert both turn their attentions toward her, but it was almost too late for them to do anything about their unexpected guest.

However it was not too late for Petra, who appeared seemingly out of nowhere to cut off Hilda's path and block her strike with a well-placed sword.

"What…" Hilda manages as she struggles to push her axe closer to the maroon-haired girl with a downward-facing arrow tattoo under her right eye.

"Is it common for Fódlan people to announce their surprising attacks before they are surprises?" The foreign princess asks in characteristically broken speech. "In Brigid we are preferring a truly stealthy approach!"

Edelgard smirks as she watches Petra and Hilda pull away from each other to start trading sword and axe swings one at a time.

"I knew there was a reason we kept her close by," she remarks.

The girl's thoughts are interrupted as Hubert cries out in pain. She looks over to find him recoiling from a direct hit to his shoulder and frowns.

"Hubert?"

He shakes his head quickly and straightens out, clearly putting back on his usual façade of normalcy to assure her everything was all right.

"Do not worry about me Lady Edelgard. I'm going to exterminate these pests directly."

While her concern is palpable, there isn't much Edelgard can do before Hubert disappears. Once he set his mind to something he believed would benefit the cause, there was no stopping him.

His disappearance leaves the Adrestian Heiress alone, however. Originally the plan had been for her to stay back and keep the contest from ending — much like a king in chess.

But as she glanced between the small-scale battles that Petra and Hubert were taking part in, she couldn't help but feel something more hands-on would be beneficial.

At the very least, she couldn't help but want to learn from them.

"Blue Lions scouts to the north… Golden Deer scout to the south…" She crosses her arms and breathes deep through her nose. "Big distracting affairs really do make it easier to slip forces past the front lines, don't they?"

Before she can muse on the idea for too long, Edelgard hears a sharp whistle. Her skin tingles as she looks toward the eastern face of the hill.

Unbeknown to her, a large group of students from the Blue Lions and Golden Deer house had been lining up all around the perimeter of the fort.

She was surrounded.

Though it was Claude who whistled, he was disarmed behind a serious-faced Dimitri. Yet Edelgard's attention was drawn more to Byleth, who stood beside his house leader. The instructor was pushing Dorothea along while holding the girl's arm behind her back.

"Sorry Edie…" Dorothea says before turning her glum look to the floor. "We did our best."

Edelgard scoffs and shakes her head, arms folded.

"Dimitri. Professor. Come to pay me a visit then, have you?"

"We've come to win this game once and for all," Dimitri calls back to her. When he raises his lance, the other members of his army follow suit.

"You truly think this is just a game?" Edelgard asks with slightly widened eyes.

He doesn't respond, but she can see the victorious conviction in the prince's eyes. Even the stone-faced Professor Byleth had a vaguely perceptible smirk.

As the girl's pale eyes scan across the line of warriors, she knew she was done for. Arrows were drawn, swords were pointed… Even that soft girl Flayn had some kind of magic spell prepared.

"Your silence speaks volumes, Dimitri."

"Let's just say I remember how our last mock battle went, Edelgard."

She closes her eyes. This _had_ been two loses in a row for the Black Eagles house. Edelgard's gut lurches at the thought, but she knew there was nothing to be done.

"As do I," she says softly.

After that she turns toward the clashing girls nearby.

"Petra!"

Then she looks down the hill where magic spells continued to fly.

"Hubert!"

On her call, all of the fighting ceased. She picks up her axe with one hand and tosses it aside. The gesture confuses everyone at first, and more weapons are lowered.

"A good general knows when she has been bested fair and square."

With that, the Black Eagles' house leader wanders out of her fortified location. She approaches Byleth and Dimitri, who stand at calm attention despite Sylvain and Felix around them cautiously raising their weapons toward her.

"The Blue Lions win. You can let my friend go now."

Byleth lets go of Dorothea. She starts to rub her arm with a slight whimper.

"Savor this victory now, friends." Edelgard begins walking again, right past Byleth and Dimitri.

They step aside, as it was quite clear she had no intention to stop and would have pushed them away. Before she gets too far away she offers a sharp, serious glance back at Dimitri over her shoulder.

"Next time, it will not come so easily."


	13. Bridle Woes

_**The farther I get into this story, the more acknowledgements I seem to be accumulating. Hopefully you don't mind author's notes showing up more frequently!**_

_**For this chapter, I actually have two of them.**_

_**The first is for the story "Lion's Pride" by SousChefSean [ID: 12570713], which was a great reference for me approaching Marianne's character early on. It inspired the brief plot point of her wanting to approach chores on her own here.**_

_**The second is to Runty Grunty [ID: 998422], who has been a frequent reader and commenter. They offered me a suggestion back in October that allowed me to flesh out a vague idea into something meaningful that flows well into the next chapter.**_

_**So yeah, go check those people out. They're super cool.**_

* * *

**Part 1 — Red Wolf Moon**

_As the calendar flips into the Red Wolf Moon,_ _winter had the Oghma Mountains firmly in its clutches. Signs of life around the Monastery continued to fade alongside the body temperature of anyone who dared to stray outside too long. _

_All of the excitement and energy fostered by the Battle of the Eagle and Lion sank into seasonal depression as students looked to the White Heron Cup and Garreg Mach Ball of the Ethereal Moon, which marked the end of the year with all the anxiety-inducing tribulations of young adult social experiences._

_Grumblings of strange activity in Remire Village, where Byleth first encountered some of the residents of Garreg Mach, kept faculty and administrators on their toes._

_But for now life, as they say, went on._

* * *

An all-black destrier snorts at the cool, earthy ground of the courtyard between Garreg Mach's stables. Its breath was hot steam in the chilly afternoon air, billowing against the ground and spreading over the shoes of the girl brushing back its thick mane.

"There, there…" Marianne mumbles, gently holding the side of the horse's face with her right hand as the other runs a brush along the hair running down its neck.

It was the first Friday of the month. Although the Blue Lions won the Officers Academy's biggest mock battle of the year, they were still on the hook for chores.

This month they were assigned to equine duties: Caring for the horses and cleaning their stables.

During their last day of instruction for the Wyvern Moon, Marianne had been quick to snatch up the responsibility. For her new classmates who were accustomed to the blue-haired cleric being quiet and standoffish, it was strange seeing her so forthcoming.

But many of them were happy to shirk their responsibilities onto an eager newcomer, as Marianne offered to do the whole month's work on her own.

'More time to myself,' she had said.

Byleth was less accommodating. He insisted that she, like everyone else, have a partner to take care of the chores. After all, a working duo would make the workload more manageable and to give her the chance to bond with more people.

That was why Dimitri could soon be found walking out of the enclosed holding pen that housed the horse Marianne was overseeing.

While his general appearance was untouched, the blond prince had a few extra accessories. The most notable piece was a cloak over the back of his armor: Black on the outside but navy blue on the inside, with fluffy white fuzz across the upper hem. It was a little too large for the boy and the bottom dragged across the ground.

But Dedue insisted he take on the extra source of warmth if he was going to be working out in the cold, and it was hard to say no to his kindly vassal.

He also carried a messy rake over his shoulder like a lance. The three-pronged fork at the end of the tool hanging over his back could have been misconstrued for a proper trident if it were not covered in dirt, horse droppings and loose bits of hay.

The boy pauses as he makes it outside, watching Marianne care for the animal he had been so ready to admonish seconds earlier for making such a mess.

In her hands, the combat-trained animal was like a puppy. Its stringy tail swung back and forth, and it kept its head ducked into her hands so she could continue mumbling in its ear. With the horse's head down, the boy also noticed a bit of winter flair on her usual attire: A lovely dark blue scarf wrapped numerous times around her neck, with one end hanging down at her chest.

He thought she looked much more comfortable adorning the less overstated piece.

"This one's done," he finally calls out.

As usual, Marianne starts at the voice cutting through her silent seclusion. The horse also looks up disturbed sensing her changed energy, but Marianne quickly calms herself so she can relax her equine charge.

"Good. I'm almost done with her. Then we can move onto the next."

Dimitri walks over to the other side of the animal and rests a hand on its broad back. He takes another moment to watch her work.

"The Professor was right," he remarks with a soft smile. "You have a wonderful way with animals, Marianne."

The girl freezes at the compliment and tries to hide her eyes behind her bangs, but can't quite cover the thin-lipped smile it brought her.

Luckily it was so cold outside that she wouldn't have to explain the red flush across her cheeks.

"I've always liked caring for them," she mutters. "Animals are far easier to talk to than humans."

Dimitri laughs and pats the horse's back. It whips its tail toward him in response.

"Well if I might ask, why aren't you traveling the path of a cavalier then?"

She looks at him with surprise, but Dimitri doubles-down on his focus. He sets his rake aside and circles around the horse to join her.

"Don't get me wrong, healing and medicine is a more than admirable pursuit. But it seems you might be more comfortable on the battlefield if you had a companion such as this to keep you grounded," he says before snorting back a laugh.

Even though his point of conversation was light and somewhat jovial, Marianne frowns. She turns her attention back down to the horse and sighs.

"I've looked into it before, but it's a wild fantasy at best." The girl gnaws at her lower lip. "I have no practical experience with lances, so I couldn't take the exams even if I wanted to."

Dimitri watches her, squinting and tapping his right index finger against his left arm. She shrivels under what seemed to be a judgmental gaze.

But then he smiles.

"Perhaps we could steal away for one-on-one training after we're done here."

Again, her eyes widen as she looks up at the prince. There are no signs of insincerity, but that somehow leaves her looking more nervous.

"Are you… Are you sure?" She clears her throat and folds her hands at her waist to pull at her fingers. "I wouldn't want to waste your time on a hopeless case."

"Marianne," he starts, but finds himself having to work through a chuckle. "I don't enjoy aggrandizing myself, but my knowledge of the lance is vast. To that end, I can at least assure you it wouldn't be an absolutely hopeless pursuit."

"I see," she mumbles.

When she glances down at her feet, Dimitri could tell he was losing the battle. So he keeps up the assault.

"Besides, lance combat could be a hidden talent of yours. You'll never know unless you try it out."

His ploy worked, as apparent by her looking back up with some confusion.

"A 'hidden talent'?"

"Sure. It's something the Professor has discussed with me quite often."

He takes the horse by its rein and starts walking it back toward the stable. Marianne follows closely behind.

"For instance, he saw some talent for black magic in Felix. The rest of us thought he was mad. It would have been inconceivable to see Felix crack open a logic tome back when we were kids."

They make it into the holding space and Dimitri starts undoing the animal's restraints.

"But now he appears well on his way to becoming a Mortal Savant one day, skilled in both the book and the blade." The prince shrugs. "He's even sitting through tutoring with Annette every other week if you can believe it."

Marianne giggles at the comment.

As soon as the horse was freed, she brings it back toward the feed Dimitri left earlier. Once it begins to eat, she turns back to her chores partner.

"It does seem silly to imagine someone like him learning from a girl like her," she agrees. "Annette feels a little too… Oh, what's the word…"

"Chipper?"

Dimitri grins.

"Yes, that works." Marianne covers her smile with a hand.

"So does this mean you are offering to be my Annette, Dimitri?"

He seems a little surprised by her verbiage, but does nod after a moment. He brushes back his cloak and rests his hands on his hips.

"Yes, I suppose I am." He looks down at the floor and shakes his head. "What do you say?"

There's a moment of silence as she thinks it over, but inevitably offers a bow.

"I would greatly appreciate the opportunity to learn from you, Dimitri." As she straightens out, she brushes the bangs from her eyes and smiles. "Thank you."

* * *

Some hours later, the duo had shed their winter apparel and taken to the Training Grounds at the opposite end of the Monastery.

The Training Grounds held an inter-house fighting tournament every month. Work was still being done to prepare for this coming Sunday's event, so the Tournament Officer was happy to allocate time for Dimitri and Marianne to use the space.

A lot of red tape had been put in place after Jeritza; once the enclosed arena's most frequent attendees as Garreg Mach's fencing instructor; was discovered to be the Death Knight and disappeared.

But the future King of Faerghus seemed trustworthy enough to commandeer it.

Thus he stood across from Marianne on the cracked and worn tile flooring, surrounded by rows of arched columns that hid a number of items and training weapons in darkness under the awnings they held up. Both students held lances with intentionally dulled iron spears atop their wooden shafts.

While Dimitri stood comfortable at a half-squat with legs spread to demonstrate a proper two-handed stance meant for basic jabs, Marianne struggled to emulate him.

She constantly had to lean forward and then straighten out again to hold up the heavier end of the weapon. Based on her muttering, she wasn't very happy with her less-than stellar performance.

"How does that lance feel to hold, Marianne?"

Dimitri knew what answer to expect, but figured it was worth asking all the same.

"It's… Heavy…" She responds meekly while hoisting her weapon up again.

He smirks and slowly shakes his head.

"Well I assure you these are the lightest weapons we have available. You may have to take some time to build your upper-body strength."

His smiley demeanor, meant to relax Marianne, seems to have the adverse effect. She looks away and lets out a shaky sigh, the tip of her lance grinding against the floor.

"I don't know that I'm cut out for this," she mumbles. The fearful apprehension in her voice is palpable.

Dimitri responds by standing up straight and twirling his lance to hold it vertically by his side. He approaches her with his free left hand outstretched, kneels slightly and raises the tip of her lance.

"With a little training, I assure you the weapon will be an extension of your arm."

As she holds a steady stance for him, Dimitri steps back and nods at her form.

"I know you're more an expert in distant, magic-based attacks. Have you done any research into how that might be of use in physical combat?"

The blue-haired girl tilts her head and stares blankly.

"When we did battle with the Death Knight in the Holy Mausoleum, and again in that dungeon, he channeled magic through his scythe." Dimitri can see her eyes brighten with understanding, and his lips curl into a smile. "I imagine there must be some spell books in the library that can speak to Combat Arts for enhancing your strikes through magic."

"That would make sense, yes." Marianne looks down at her hands and clutches the lance hard, seeing if she could prime herself to fill the weapon with energy.

It doesn't work. All she can feel is the wood halting her power like rubber does lightning, leaving an icy chill tingling along her fingers.

"I'll have to ask Tomas if we have anything like that when he returns."

"Whenever that might be," Dimitri chuckles, brushing off the librarian's recent absence from Garreg Mach. "In the meantime, let's start with a defensive exercise. That will probably serve your needs better."

The blond prince takes a jabbing stance and holds out his lance. It was parallel to hers, lingering just above it.

"If you're attacked in this position, you can easily parry with a sharp hit upward. Go ahead and try it."

After taking a moment to catch her breath, Marianne follows his instruction.

She brings the front of her lance up and knocks into his. The impact makes a subdued sound as the 'attacking' lance bounces slightly.

"That's the right idea, but you need to be more aggressive." He brings his lance down and knocks Marianne's weapon off balance, leading her to almost fall as her spear tip crashes into the floor. "Otherwise you're but a nuisance. Only delaying your fate."

Doubts echo in the back of Marianne's head, telling her to say that she would gladly welcome that fate when it comes. Outwardly, she tries to catch her breath. Seeing Dimitri so easily pull back into a neutral stance while her lance shutters against the cracked tile and pushes dirt around made her feel anxious.

But it also lit a fire deep in her core. She didn't want to just give up.

Not in front of him.

So the girl takes a deep breath and steels her muscles before pulling her lance off the ground. It comes up fast and smacks into his. This time the sound of their collision reverberates and Dimitri is surprised at how close he gets to losing the weapon.

But that surprise leads him to smile wider. He holds his lance above hers again.

"Better."

Marianne can feel his compliment tingle warmly down her back. She seems to hold her weapon more confidently.

"Now, again."

They go through the same drill a number of times. Marianne succeeds in knocking away his stationary weapon on multiple occasions before Dimitri can sense her energy diminishing through weaker and weaker blows.

Eventually he pulls his lance away by flipping it vertically again. He does so as she's about to attempt another parry, which leaves her following through aimlessly. She yelps at the motion and manages to stop it just before she hits herself in the head.

"It seems you understand the form," Dimitri says before taking a hop back. "But your opponent is not going to stand still and let you act. Are you ready for more?"

"I… I think so." Marianne was panting harder than before, but seemed eager to keep this going. Her brief success had sparked a clear surge of energy.

"Well then, let's see how you handle this."

Dimitri starts to slowly scoot forward; pushing his right foot out across the floor first and then letting his left catch up. With each approach he thrusts his lance.

Marianne easily deflects the first hit, making his attack fly past her head. After that she tries to keep space between them out by moving backward.

Seeing how well she's able to keep up, Dimitri intensifies. More and more attacks are thrown out closer to one another, to the point that Marianne starts panicking. Her parries become more frantic and she nearly stumbles while trying to back away faster.

"Don't ease up Marianne," Dimitri says in the gap between the grunts accentuating each attack.

"D-Dimitri, I…"

She doesn't finish her thought, cutting herself off with a yelp as she sloppily blocks a jab.

"Soldiers on the battlefield with challenge you with flurries far more overwhelming than this," he continues. "And I'm about to back you into a corner."

She briefly takes her eyes off of him, looking over her shoulder to see a pillar.

"W-What?"

"Eyes on me Marianne. If you lose focus, your opponent can easily…" With a sharp cry, Dimitri manages to hook her lance and knock it away. "Disarm you!"

As she watches her weapon fly into the air, Marianne screams and instinctively throws her hands in front of her face to defend herself.

The emotional outburst causes that power she had primed in her hands to explode out in an icy blast. With her eyes closed, all Marianne can hear is Dimitri grunt, followed by a heavy thud and the sound of clattering metal.

As her hyperventilating slows into a trembling whimper, she drops her arms.

She finds Dimitri on the floor, groaning. His lance was across the Training Grounds, lost when his arms were sealed to his sides by the jagged block of ice that now enveloped his chest. The fingers of his right arm were bent forward, poking out of the ice.

Every time he coughs, clearly winded by the hit, his free fingers twitch.

Oh Goddess, she killed him. _For real this time_. That's all Marianne could hear running through her mind.

"Dimitri!" She cries out before running over and dropping to her knees at his side.

"I'm so, so sorry. This was a terrible mistake; I never should have let you talk me into this. I knew it would go wrong because I'm pathetic and I hurt you and… And…"

Her words came out a mile-a-minute, but Dimitri was deaf to them. He was stuck on his back, coughing and trying to move anything above his legs or below his head. All he knows is she was freaking out, and he tries to cut that off by looking toward her.

"Marianne."

She tenses up with a squeak and grips her skirt with both hands, fully attentive.

"It's fine," he says. "You aren't the first of our allies to risk my life during a training session."

The prince tries to laugh, but it's interspersed with a cough.

Marianne seems curious as she rests her hands on the ice around his chest.

"I'm not?"

"You are not," he reiterates. Trying to bring a hand up to comfort her proves fruitless, as all he can do is move his fingers. "Mercedes once lost a training sword and nearly took my head off."

"Oh…"

"I suppose you can take comfort in knowing you are a better shot than she is."

This time Marianne joins Dimitri's laughter with a chuckle. There was something comforting about Mercedes screwing up just as badly — if not worse — than she had. It helped keep the golden pedestal she often lifted her fellow cleric onto in-check.

But their shared laughter ends when Dimitri doubles over with a harsh, bone-chilling sneeze. Marianne doubles back with widened eyes as he groans.

"That doesn't sound very good…"


	14. The Future Margrave

**Part 1 — Red Wolf Moon**

_Marianne's unprompted Blizzard spell landed the Prince of Faerghus in the infirmary for a week. There he suffered the long, shivering nights and earth quaking sneezes of a particularly nasty cold. The ailment drew great ridicule from his childhood friends, who were quick to remind him of his seemingly spotless record of health back home in the coldest part of Fódlan. _

_Yet that ridicule meant he had plenty of visitors._

_None visited Dimitri quite as often as Marianne, however. Professor Manuela came to refer to her similarly timed attendance each morning as "the daily atonement" given how much time she spent apologizing at his bedside while preparing a cup of chamomile tea — which she had learned was his favorite from Byleth._

_All throughout his recovery, the Blue Lions continued their diligent tutelage and training, especially as the grumblings of upset in Remire Village began to come louder and more frequently._

* * *

The sun had long-since crested over the horizon on the frigid second Sunday of the Red Wolf Moon. It was considerably late in the day compared to when Dimitri was usually up and out training with battered dummies, but a miracle he was up at all given his bouts of long, heavy bed rest in the infirmary.

Professor Manuela told the boy that the near-comatose state he so easily fell into was a sign he needed more sleep in his day-to-day life, which Dimitri acknowledged with a passable facsimile of understanding and willingness to change.

She didn't need to know about his unending sleepless nights staring out at phantom blood-fueled blazes over the distant mountains. Not now, anyway.

Instead Dimitri offered the former opera singer his gratitude for looking after him before stepping out into the second-story hallway above the Reception Hall, which was lined with the offices of various faculty members. He appeared to be back at peak capacity in his full armored garb, if not for his unusually disheveled blond hair from so much time lying down.

Anyone nearby would also hear Dimitri's occasional snotty sniffling, evidence of his still blocked-up airways. The Prince did not seem to pay it much mind — as though he were used to muffled senses.

When he turns toward the Audience Chamber where Archbishop Rhea often lingered, Dimitri finds a familiar hill of grassy-green hair steadily approaching from the chamber's open double doors. As soon as the man that head of hair belonged to blocked the slender hallway, there was no way for Dimitri to escape.

"Mister Blaiddyd," Seteth says with a tone of finality befitting his determined gaze and serious posture, arms folded behind his back. "Good to see you back amongst the living."

"Sometimes I wonder, but I appreciate the warm welcome Seteth." Dimitri offers a gentle smirk as his demeanor ribs the man for his formality. "Honestly though, are we not yet on a first-name basis with one another?"

Seteth closes his eyes and turns his head down slightly.

"We are, but not when there is serious business to discuss."

Dimitri sniffles, and then his smile fades.

"I see," he remarks before clearing his throat. "What do we have to discuss then?"

"It would be easier to just show you to him, I'm afraid."

The Archbishop's right hand turns and slowly walks back whence he came.

Dimitri stands and watches Seteth's back for a moment, blinking as he tries to work things out on his own.

"Him?"

Whatever he imagines brings an uncomfortable wince as he stumbles when starting to follow along.

"Don't tell me…"

* * *

The Prince's suspicions are confirmed when he and Seteth enter the small office off on the left side of the Audience Chamber to find Sylvain waiting comfortably; his feet kicked up on the paper-strewn desk as he leans the chair back onto its hind legs.

As soon as he was no longer alone, the redhead drops a feather pen he had been examining as though it were a knife and flashes a sharp-toothed grin. Seteth grimaces as the pen falls to the floor.

"Hey Dimitri!" He remarks jovially while letting the chair settle normally so he can plant his feet on the ground. "Don't tell me you're in trouble too."

Dimitri attempts to take a deep breath through his nose and shakes his head.

It sounds pretty rough, honestly.

"What did you do, Sylvain?" The Prince asks without a shred of sympathy.

"What?!" Sylvain laughs like Dimitri just told the funniest joke he's ever heard, and plays it up further by leaning forward with his arms hooked around his stomach. "Me? Come on, you know me! I haven't done anything wrong."

"Mister Gautier," Seteth interrupts with a sharp, parental tone that immediately makes the boy duck his head. "Was caught with a young woman from the neighboring town. In the sauna that as he should know is strictly off-limits to students."

It was obvious right away that Dimitri still did not have the energy to deal with something like this. He turns a glare to Sylvain once Seteth says his piece.

"Yeah fine, it's off-limits." Sylvain shrugs and looks away, arms crossed defensively. "But it's not like we were doing anything! Just making out. Like a little."

"He was missing his shirt when Shamir found them," the administrator continues.

"Sylvain!" Dimitri says with more venom, causing his housemate to wince.

"She just wanted to see what I had! Come on Dimitri, you know all this battle training does wonders for our abdominals."

The blond Prince looks displeased by Sylvain's attempt to play on his good side.

As Sylvain slowly gets up out of the chair under Dimitri and Seteth's gazes, he looks down at his feet with an uncharacteristically meek scoff. He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck.

"Look, that's as far as it was going to go. I swear." Sylvain looks up at Dimitri with a more pleading, apologetic look. "Wasn't even planning on asking her to take off anything in return. It was very gentlemanly."

Dimitri sighs out the half-assed breath he was able to take through his stuffed nose and looks at Seteth.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention," he says. "I'll take Sylvain out of your hair and talk to him myself."

"Please see that this does not happen again."

Dimitri nods to the man, and then looks toward Sylvain until he does the same.

Afterward the Blue Lions' students file out of the room, Sylvain trailing a few steps behind Dimitri with his tail between his legs. Seteth turns in place to watch until they're gone before picking up the discarded feather pen and placing it in its inkwell.

While he's there, he picks up a loose piece of paper adorned with unusual script:

"I'm on it," "Take this," and other quotes were scribbled all over the page in various sizes and orientations. It looked like Sylvain was testing out quips for battle.

Seteth sighs. There was a hint of jealousy at the boy's optimism in the face of a subject like war — even if there was no real war on the schedule.

"Lovely."

* * *

The boys make their way downstairs and out onto the bridge that connected Garreg Mach proper to its grand Cathedral. What was typically a bustling pathway full of holy practitioners running to and from the spiritual home of the Saints was barren in the dead of winter, which made it a perfect place to have a private discussion.

Sylvain picked up on this as soon as the Prince led him onto the suspended walkway and puts on his best smile for the occasion.

"Hey, thanks for bailing me out Dimitri."

He rests a hand on Dimitri's shoulder while walking up beside him.

Dimitri closes his eyes at the contact, but does not pull away from it. He continues walking at the same brisk pace, boots stomping hard on the stone floor.

Sensing he wasn't going to get a response, Sylvain leans in slightly and lowers his voice to a hushed whisper.

"We uhh… We don't have to tell Ingrid about this, do we?" He asks with a nervous chuckle. "She'd feed me to the foliage in chunks, knowing her."

"Perhaps she ought to!"

Dimitri suddenly stops and turns to face his red-haired companion, swatting the hand on his shoulder away. Sylvain looks surprised at the fiery reaction, especially given how obvious it was that Dimitri had to fight through a hoarse voice to get it.

He takes a few steps back, but Dimitri stomps ahead to jab a finger against his retreating sternum.

"I've put up with your nonsense for a long time Sylvain, because somehow I imagined one of us would get through to you and you would have grown up by now. But clearly that was a fool's errand!"

With a huff, Dimitri turns to face the chasm around them with crossed arms.

"You're going to be the Margrave of House Gautier one day, Sylvain. _My_ Margrave." An intense puff of steam puffs out of his nose. "Do you not understand how the reputation you're garnering is going to affect the both of us once we are in power?"

Sylvain looks down and kicks his foot as if shuffling dust. At first he seems remorseful, scratching at his right temple to cover part of his face with his hand.

But the longer the silence lingers, the more Sylvain steels himself.

When Dimitri finally turns to look at his classmate again, he'd find the redhead squinting and involuntarily shaking his white-knuckled fists.

"Dimitri…" He begins somewhat breathlessly.

Then he clears his throat and puffs out his chest slightly.

"You know damn well, better than anyone else, that I understand the burden I've taken on thanks to this…" He holds out his right arm and points toward the inside of his wrist with the other hand. "This blood curse."

Dimitri's intense, admonishing gaze softens slightly.

"I knew about it when Glenn died to protect your father. I knew about it when we had to slaughter my deformed, malefic brother." Sylvain steps forward, practically spitting on Dimitri as he crescendos into yelling. "All because he wasn't lucky enough to be born with magic running through his veins and was abandoned!"

There's another pause, as Sylvain stays up in Dimitri's face panting hot, angry steam against his skin. Dimitri begins looking away; the power dynamic reversed.

"I know you know that," the Prince mutters.

Sylvain lets out one brief, calloused scoff before finally leaning back and throwing his arms up behind his head.

"Oh, and this 'grow up' schtick? That's real rich coming from someone who's two years younger than me."

Dimitri is less impressed by this argument, but doesn't get a word in edgewise.

"Yeah I know. You're His Highness, the future King of Faerghus." Sylvain mimics a lady curtsying in a poufy dress. "What the Prince wants, the Prince gets."

The redhead straightens out and crosses his right leg behind his left, tapping on the ground with the toes of his boot as his hands grip the cloth on his sides.

"But let's be honest with ourselves here, Dimitri. It's not going to be that much longer until we're ruling our homeland together, sending hordes of innocents out to their deaths protecting some ephemeral border while we lavish ourselves in piles of ivory and gold because we were born lucky enough to 'deserve' it."

He began to snarl while talking, but composes himself soon after to stand at an idle position.

"Until then, we aren't the Prince and the Margrave. We're students, and we should be out having the time of our lives on our own terms."

Suddenly, Sylvain's hostile energy bubbles into a cheeky smirk.

"That means you too. You've got the biggest burden to carry of us all, but that's all the more reason you should be using that youth to the fullest while you've got it." He reaches out and rests both hands on Dimitri's shoulders, this time with more affection.

"And I've been watching you… You're either suppressing that shit like your life depends on it, or you're as blind to your feelings as they come."

Dimitri wrinkles his brow.

"Come again?"

Sylvain scoffs as he lets go of his friend so he can turn around and ruffle up his red hair with a groan.

"Don't be an idiot, Dimitri. I've seen the way you and Marianne chat during lunch hours; the way you pass glances at each other during class; the way you always elected to help her with things even before we were classmates…"

The Prince continues to stare, head tilted and arms crossed.

"Marianne and I?" He questions with naïve innocence. "What are you getting at?"

Sylvain vents out another aggressive cry before whirling around to face Dimitri and throwing his hands toward the floor, desperation shining in his golden-brown eyes.

"You don't think it's just the slightest bit weird that Marianne is the only student in this entire school who has transferred to our class, despite the fact that the Professor is an enigmatically charming Casanova who's friends with everyone?" Sylvain leans in, fingers curled like claws toward the sky. "You don't think there's a second factor involved? A factor with pretty blue eyes that gives up his peach sorbet on a whim?"

Dimitri's eyes dart across Sylvain's face repeatedly, trying to suss out whether the crazed look meant he was more dangerous than usual. Eventually he leans into it.

"Actually I heard there are a few others interested in transferring," he says. "Supposedly Bernadetta is—"

"That's not the point!" Sylvain interjects with a rowdy stomp.

Dimitri holds his hands up defensively, eyes widened.

After a moment of staring at this with a heavy pant, Sylvain runs both hands through his hair with a dejected sigh.

"Figures you wouldn't get it," he mumbles under his breath.

The redhead takes a long, deep breath through his nose while straightening out his posture, which he ends with a brief and aggressive grunt.

"Look. At some point you are going to figure this all out for yourself," he begins with a serious, brotherly tone. "At which point you're probably going to need help figuring out how to talk to girls."

He flashes a sharp, giggly grin.

"Luckily I'm an expert in the subject, so promise you'll keep me in mind when you get there." Sylvain reaches out and pats Dimitri's right arm. "You and me are like family, yeah? Gotta stick together, help each other out."

Dimitri sniffles (due to his lingering cold, of course) and finally breaks a smile in the face of Sylvain's overwhelming grin.

He covers Sylvain's hand with his own.

"Of course. I'll be sure to keep that in mind, Sylvain."

"Great!"

The redhead stretches his arms up and lets out an overemphasized yawn.

"I need some grub after getting that out of my system." He turns and walks away, raising his right hand over his shoulder as a shorthand wave. "Catch you later, Dimitri."

"Enjoy," he responds with a casual laugh before starting to head in the opposite direction of the Cathedral.

However Dimitri only gets about halfway, and then freezes dead in his tracks. It takes a second for his brain to wire everything together before the Prince turns around and starts running back toward Garreg Mach proper with a snarl.

"Sylvain! Don't think you can get out of breaking Monastery rules that easily!"


	15. Earthquakes

_**Apologies for the somewhat late upload of this chapter, for those who are keeping track the day it's going up. Thanksgiving week has been a little busy, so I didn't have a lot of time to write. Hopefully it was worth the wait! I've had this particular idea for a scene in my head since the inception of the story.**_

* * *

**Part 1 — Ethereal Moon**

_When the powder keg in Remire Village suddenly blew at the end of the Red Wolf Moon, it was too late for the Church of Seiros to mobilize an effective amount of their soldiers. Reports flooded in fast: Of buildings burning to ash, and of citizens rife with violent intent._

_Byleth was quick to take the Blue Lions on his mission to Remire with Jeralt, where they found the place aglow with crimson blood lit by blazing fires — all caused by townsfolk turning on one another as strange soldiers watched over the unbridled chaos._

_At the heart of the tempest Byleth and his students would find Solon: A leading member of Those Who Slither in the Dark. This faction of dark magic practitioners sought a mysterious future for Fódlan, and was evidently willing to go to extreme, gruesome measures to achieve it. They had infiltrated the Holy Mausoleum during the Goddess's Rite of Rebirth, and Solon himself had been masquerading as Garreg Mach's librarian for who knows how long._

_Dimitri was enraged when Solon escaped from the chaos he had wrought, and even more when the Flame Emperor appeared to comment on the necessity of their comrade's unseemly measures to bring about change._

_The Emperor posed an alliance against the Church but was rejected, despite Byleth feeling an oddly intimate connection with his armored foe._

* * *

The denizens of Garreg Mach were awoken in the earliest hours of a Tuesday morning by an earthquake.

It was not a tumultuous quake. In fact, it was just one of many small seismic events that had plagued Fódlan since the incident in Remire Village. But it was the first to affect the Oghma Mountains so closely; stirring chaos and fear amongst Officers' Academy and Monastery residents alike.

Despite the chill that continued to haunt the air, the dimly lit grounds were peppered with murmuring crowds of people wrapped in heavy blankets to try and keep their pajama-clad forms as warm as possible. They were all advised to stay away from the rooms while Seteth and other administrators checked buildings for any serious structural or property damages caused by the earthquake.

But not everyone felt comfortable standing back and letting the adults handle all the disaster debriefing.

Dimitri joined his fellow house leaders in checking up on their classmate's safety across the grounds. The Prince seemed the least bothered by this early morning chill despite his smallclothes consisting of not much more than thin, long grey pants and a short-sleeved white shirt with navy trim.

Claude put on a good "grin and bear it" face despite wearing even less than Dimitri, with shorts that only stretched down to his darker-skinned knees. His usually scruffy hair was more unkempt than usual too, clear evidence of how quickly they had all been roused by the quake.

Edelgard looked to be struggling most in the cold weather, even though she was the best off in terms of dress. She had a flowing nightgown covered in embellishments that screamed of Dorothea, as well as a thick black-and-blue cloak Dimitri had let her borrow upon seeing how badly she was shivering through her ever-stoic facade. It was as though something about her constitution made her especially susceptible to the inclement weather — but she was very thankful that Dimitri hadn't prodded her with questions when trying to help.

He knew what kind of air she tried to keep around her friends and comrades, the kind of impenetrable strength she hoped to exude.

He was much the same in that way, after all.

Most of their classmates were doing well after the earthquake. A few members of the Blue Lions expressed concern about the event's possible connections to their recent experiences. Particularly Ashe and Annette, who were chatting by the Dining Hall where Mercedes was apparently rummaging around for snacks to pass around. However, none of the house leaders could offer any sort of insight.

There were also more personal concerns expressed by the likes of Ignatz and Ferdinand, who worried their painting supplies and porcelain tea sets respectively might have been damaged. Those concerns were more easily waved off by assurances the house leaders had been given from Seteth.

Eventually Dimitri, Claude and Edelgard would run into the ever quiet, serious Professor Byleth while passing by the pond toward the long-since closed Marketplace at the entrance to Garreg Mach. He was still fully dressed, as though the earthquake had simply interrupted him while already burning the midnight oil.

Dimitri gestures for his companions to continue on as he rears off to intersect Byleth's path. They give the Blue Lions space to conspire in private, but don't go too much further before deciding to wait.

"Evening, Professor."

"Morning is more like it," Byleth responds with a slight smile.

"Indeed it is." Dimitri has a bit of a chuckle as he looks down at the cobbled stone floor and shakes his head. "Might I assume you're out and about with the same goal as us Professor?

"I wouldn't expect anything less." Byleth crosses his arms and takes on that stone-faced seriousness once more. "Not one of us four would truly feel right leaving the students flustered and isolated in trying times."

The Prince nods in clear agreement.

He scratches at his hair while looking over Byleth's shoulder to see Claude doing some kind of goofy, over-the-top gestures to try and drag a smile out of Edelgard.

"Sometimes I wonder but… Yes. Undoubtedly."

"Regardless of him, I appreciate your help in the matter." Byleth rests a hand on Dimitri's shoulder, obviously well aware of the boy's concern for the Golden Deer leadership.

Dimitri smiles warmly at the reassurance and the contact, bringing his own right hand up to hook it around Byleth's outstretched arm.

"Well if you're headed in this direction, you don't need to bother going up around the Dining Hall. We've checked out that area and most of the first-floor dorms — though Bernadetta still seems shaken to be stuck outside while Manuela examines her room."

Byleth can't help but stifle a laugh through his nose hearing that.

"We have not gone up to the second-floor dormitories, however. Not sure if anyone is up there, but it could be worth looking through just in case."

"Noted," Byleth says as he pulls his arm back and flaunts the jacket out a little as though it were a cape. "I can stop by there before making my way."

Dimitri raises an eyebrow curiously and leans back, head tilted.

"Making your way where, exactly?"

At first Byleth is caught off-guard by Dimitri's pointed concern. Though his face doesn't show it, of course.

"I'm meeting with Flayn. We were working on some plans for the White Heron Cup when the ground began to roll, so we decided to find each other again once things cooled off. Perhaps calm our nerves with a cup of tea."

The blond boy's lips curl into something of a smirk, which draws more suspicion out of his instructor.

"You don't strike me as the kind who gets nervous easily, Professor."

"Remire was hard."

The admission was rather blunt for Byleth, who typically preferred to keep a lot of his emotional turmoil under wraps. Even more blunt was the way he seemed to brush it off just a moment later with a casual shrug.

"I'm sure you can attest to that as well, Dimitri." The Prince's gaze falters as he looks away from Byleth's comment. "I've heard murmurs of the 'Boar Prince' coming from more than just Felix after what happened back there."

Dimitri clearly needs a moment to center himself, the shaking fist by his hip and his unsteady breaths. Byleth could practically see the flashes of fire burned into the periphery of his pupils.

"Those bastards will pay for what they've done to the innocents of this country," he hisses in a more gravelly tone than usual. "That's all there is to say on the matter."

The Professor stares at his student's bubbling rage in silence before nodding.

"Frankly… I agree."

They each take a moment to continue settling under the oppressively cold air.

However, it isn't long before Edelgard catches both their attentions by clearing her throat as she comes up behind Dimitri. They find her wrapped up tightly in the oversized cloak, as though it were a suit of armor. Her white hair and pale eyes made for quite the contrast to its overwhelming darkness, even in the dim moonlight.

"Are you almost ready, Dimitri?" She asks with a hint of frustration. "Leave me with Claude much longer and you may soon have to fish him out of the pond."

Even though Dimitri's fist was still balled by his side, Edelgard's suggestion of imminent violence seems to break away more of his darkened energy through a brief, jovial laugh.

"Of course. I'll be right there."

As she turns to join the Golden Deer's house leader again, Dimitri addresses Byleth one last time.

"Just be careful, okay?"

Byleth squints. Did Dimitri know something he didn't?

"What would you have me be careful of? The earthquake passed, has it not?"

"Yes…" Dimitri trails off for a moment, letting his smirk return before continuing. "I'm just worried of what Seteth might do should he figure out how often you are sneaking around the Monastery with his sister."

With that the boy quickly turns around and saunters off to join the others.

He leaves Byleth looking stunned in his wake. The Professor would not have expected such a teasing, deep-cut of an attack to come with no chance for rebuttal; especially not after they had a serious moment.

All he can do is scoff and shake his head, watching the three youths wander away.

"Geez. That's rich coming from him."

Byleth did not have to turn his gaze away from Dimitri, Claude and Edelgard to know that the mysterious emerald-haired girl had joined him once again.

"As though it isn't so obvious how much he's running around with that sickly girl lately!"

Sothis floats backward from Byleth's right side to be right in front of him, arms crossed and eyes meeting his the entire way.

Her curiosity is met with a continual blank stare and silence.

She gets frustrated fast, but is interrupted as soon as she opens her mouth to chastise him for ignoring her.

"Do you honestly think Flayn and I seem the same in those matters?"

Sothis keeps her mouth agape briefly, still of all breath as she tries to think of a response. The effort is fruitless. Soon she simply looks away, puffing out her cheeks.

Maybe he did have to worry about Seteth after all…

* * *

As the three lords make their way into the Garreg Mach stables, there was a loud commotion coming from one of the furthest horse enclosures: Panicked whinnies, and an even more panicked, high-pitched voice trying to sound over them.

They rush over to the entrance and find Marianne frantically trying to calm the horse down as it shimmies back and forth, whipping its head around to shake her away.

"Marianne?" Dimitri calls out, causing the poor girl to freak out as usual.

This time, however, her cry sounded a little weepier. The three would see her shaking arms and drying, slick cheeks as she turns to face them in what appeared to be a thinner, all-black version of Edelgard's scarlet nightgown. It also had fewer embellishments, though there were a few of Hilda's pins strewn about it.

Dimitri quickly runs inside and calms the horse down with a gentle hand against its muzzle, letting it feed off of a more relaxed energy.

Once they didn't have to worry about getting kicked by a nervous animal, he turns to the sobbing girl and tries to do the same thing. He rests one hand on her shoulder, the other hand on her cheek.

"What's the matter?" He asks. "You appear as though you've seen a ghost."

Claude and Edelgard continue to stand at the doorway, each leaning against either side of the frame. They glance at each other with curious expressions before watching the scene within the enclosure.

"It's nothing." She mutters in a very unconvincing fashion, trying to turn away from his deep blue gaze. "The earthquake just… Freaked me out a little, I guess."

She takes a deep, shuttering breath, and Dimitri frowns in return.

"I assure you that's quite alright Marianne," he says softly. "We're all a little on-edge after Remire."

"But—"

She begins, cutting off his train of thought unceremoniously, and then falls silent. There's a lump of nerves obviously caught in her throat.

"But… What?"

His attempt to goad more out of her seems to work after a moment. She looks up at the blond boy again, blue hair obscuring her eyes.

"An inkwell fell off my wall and shattered when it happened." Marianne tries to swallow that lump down, but her voice still sounds hoarse. "It was dark and I couldn't see what was going on, so I thought I was going to die."

Dimitri keeps silent so she can talk everything out, but makes sure she can tell he's listening intently.

"F-For once… I… I don't know, I got really scared. I didn't… Want to die." The last bit comes out as silent and breathy as it could. "So I thought I could come relax by seeing the horses, but they were rattled and we all just kind of fed off of each other."

Even though he picked up on the darker subtext of her words, Dimitri doesn't prod any further. He simply nods to acknowledge her thoughts and runs the hand that was on her cheek through her hair, clearing the bangs away from her face.

"Don't worry so much, Marianne. You know nobody here would ever allow someone to bring you harm. Even if you landed the Prince of Faerghus in the infirmary for a week."

She giggles at his reference back to their little sparring session the previous month, which leads him to grin widely.

"Seteth is letting people back in their rooms soon, so you should go back to bed." He says, earning a nod. "We do have another training session scheduled in the afternoon. You should be well rested for that. I'll even come by in the morning to help you clean up that spilled ink if you want."

Marianne feels a chill run up her spine as she imagines inviting Dimitri into her room. Letting him see how much of a slob she was.

It was embarrassing, but by the goddess she hated having to clean.

So she quickly shakes her head.

"N-No! That's… That's quite alright Dimitri. I appreciate it, though."

Suddenly she pulls the boy into a tight hug.

He grunts, not expecting to have the wind knocked out of him by such a slight girl. There's only a moment for him to come to terms with the surprise hug and wrap his arms around her in turn before she mutters, "thank you," and pulls away.

As she scampers past Dimitri and out of the enclosure, Marianne pauses and offers a half bow to the others she had forgotten were waiting.

"Claude… E-Edelgard…"

Then she's gone, practically halfway across the Monastery grounds before Dimitri steps out into the chilly open air.

Once there he would find Claude and Edelgard staring at him, both equally stunned. Looking between the two of them a few times, Dimitri seems confused.

"What?"

Edelgard looks at Claude, and just a second later he meets her gaze. Then, with a scoff, the future leader of the Adrestian Empire pulls her borrowed cloak tighter and shakes her head at its lender.

"We're just impressed is all," she says with a little more venom underpinning her words than she was letting on. "Impressed at how easily you calmed her down."

"Well what can I say?" Dimitri asks with a shrug. "I think—"

"Alright no, let me cut to the chase." Dimitri looks a bit annoyed as Claude interrupts, looking particularly smug with his elbows bent out and hands on his sides.

"I don't think I would have been as comfortable letting Marianne transfer to the Blue Lions if I know you two would just be snogging out behind the stables all the time."

Edelgard snorts and covers her mouth, trying not to laugh out loud.

Dimitri looks at her quickly before glaring down Claude and his shit-eating grin.

"You're daft, Riegan." The Prince's arms cross over his chest defensively. "There's nothing like that going on."

"I don't know about that, Dimitri…" Edelgard piles on with a playful hum.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean most girls the world over would probably melt at the way you so gently brushed her hair back," she says with a giggle. Her hand comes out of her tightly wrapped cloak to embellish the action. "Don't you think, Claude?"

"Oh absolutely," he agrees. "How is Sylvain the ladies' man of your class again?"

They share a hearty laugh and lean against each other to stay steady as Dimitri snarls at the ground. His eyes are closed and his face is burning a dark red.

"If you two keep this up, I won't hesitate to string you up by your innards right here in the stables."

Hearing that leads Edelgard into a harder, shrill laugh. The kind of laugh that left her wheezing as she tried to take a proper breath and ease the purple tinge of her cheeks.

Claude loses it even more when she does.

"What is wrong with the two of you?" Dimitri cries out over their laughter, flummoxed.

Eventually Edelgard calms down enough to respond, though her words still need to break through hiccupping, drunken giggles.

"You can't just pull that as a threat, Dimitri."

"Why not?"

"Because we're all taking the same literature courses!" She grins, sniffling back the rest of her laughter. "You're just trying to recycle the punishment of that Chevois resistance leader in the old storybooks we were reading last week. That's a bit pathetic."

Dimitri huffs and crosses his arms tighter.

"It is not pathetic."

"Honestly I'm upset you're using the worst version of the story."

Claude draws the eyes of both his comrades with that comment, and shrugs as if he thought their curiosity was ridiculous.

"I read the fun assignments!" He says, deflecting the obvious accusation resting on the tips of their tongues. "I'm just saying, I personally preferred the translation where the resistance leader wound up with the Fateful Prince."

Edelgard rolls her eyes.

"You're far too sentimental for your own good, Claude. Whoever wrote that version clearly didn't understand the kinds of sacrifices necessary to quash a rebellion and win a war."

"Like you do, Princess?"

Before she has the chance to snap back, Dimitri silences the others by passing between them as he makes his way back toward the dormitories at the other side of Garreg Mach.

"You two can argue about whether Nohr or Hoshido should have won in that old epic all night for all I care, but I'm going back to my quarters."

The other house leaders glance toward each other, and Claude grins.

"Alright, sleep well Your Royalness."

"Hope your dreams are full of blue-haired fairies," Edelgard quickly adds on.

They start to laugh again as Dimitri grumbles in retreat, dragging his feet the whole way.


	16. Beasts of the Ball

**Part 1 — Ethereal Moon**

_Despite strange occurrences popping up all across Fódlan throughout the Ethereal Moon, Garreg Mach inevitably settled into a cheerful holiday mood._

_The primary instigator of this was the White Heron Cup: A yearly event in which one student from each of the three houses dons a traditional dancer's garb to compete for bragging rights and specialized training in an old form of dance-fighting by Archbishop Rhea. Some scholars complained about the negligence of turning national traditions into a competitive commodity, but students of the Officers Academy overwhelmingly appreciated the chance to have fun while learning their peoples' history._

_Except for the Prince of Faerghus. He did not enjoy Byleth's sudden interest in prolonging a joke about making him this year's competitive dancer._

_Luckily it was just a joke, as in the end Flayn nabbed a win for the Blue Lions. She narrowly beat out the long-developed skills of Dorothea and the sheer charisma of Hilda thanks to extra training with her surprisingly adept professor. _

_Just over a week later, students were ready to gather for the Garreg Mach Ball._

* * *

The Monastery's Reception Hall was done up to the nines.

All of the communal oak tables and benches that typically lined the immense space, making it a popular place to study, had been cleared out. Now there were significantly less places to sit, with most of them relegated to ghostly-draped circular tables dotted near the doorways at either short wall of the rectangular room.

A fair amount of people gathered around the table closest to the doorway leading toward the bridge connecting to the Cathedral, hoping to steal access to silver platters of towering meats and sweets from the monopolizing Golden Deer. Raphael and Lysithea were more a force to be reckoned with in the culinary battlefield than in actual combat — and that was saying something. It did not take long for the offerings to be vacuumed up.

There was not a huge demand for the food, however.

Most of the attention in the room was drawn to the wide-open area in the center. Crowds lined the longer walls to create an echo chamber of idle chatter around a number of waltzing couples. Only a few individuals were notably checked out despite their physical presence at the event. Namely Bernadetta, who was cowering in a chair by the exit out to the classroom courtyard and doing her best not to kick a sleeping Linhardt curled under the tablecloth.

Bright candles spaced around the room and on chandeliers hanging from the ceiling created an all-encompassing bath of orange light for students to dance under; which also radiated out of various windows built high into the walls.

The vast majority of couples swaying around the open dance floor were faceless drones with storied pasts we may never know. But most, if not all of them, were very interested in nabbing a dance with the future rulers of the Adrestian Empire and Kingdom of Faerghus.

Some simply wished to be in the presence of greatness, while others hoped to take the opportunity to put their hats in the ring for a state or romantic position in their lives.

Dimitri and Edelgard were happy to oblige each and every one to a dance, even if neither were particularly interested in discussing matters of the future.

Yet neither wound up taking the opportunity to catch the other for a private moment, despite ample opportunities presented. The two future rulers repeatedly wound up dancing back-to-back, with Dimitri finding Edelgard's long white hair brushed against the side of his armor each time. But still, they did not dance.

Claude, the only house leader more interested in casual sideline conversation than dancing, noted his friends' lack of initiative with a deeply eye-rolling sense of judgment.

He would find a distraction from that potential gossip starter in the form of saving Byleth from the particularly aggressive, drunken advances of Manuela. With naught but a wink and a tug on the silent instructor's shoulder, the two were caught up waltzing.

As the night progresses, Dimitri found himself having the most fun dancing with Ingrid. Their friendship went as far back as anyone's within the Blue Lions house, which made him more comfortable leaning into the fact that he was a dreadful dancer on those two left feet. Ingrid was happy to take the lead, her father having flooded her childhood with dance lessons despite her insistence on more combat-oriented training.

All the better to find a suitor to save the financially struggling House Galatea.

While they pass around the corner of the dance floor closest to the near-depleted table of food, Ingrid suddenly smiles at something behind Dimitri's back.

He looks immediately suspicious.

"What is it?" He asks, rather bluntly.

Ingrid simply shakes out her long, blonde hair and sighs.

"I think you might have a better offer here, Dimitri."

The two sway in place and wait for the music to hit an appropriate beat, at which point Ingrid spins Dimitri around before turning to find a new partner amongst the couples whom had all split apart.

Dimitri is left standing awkwardly and mildly confused until he sees a familiar head of blue hair emerge from the crowd.

At which point he smiles, bending his left arm up and holding his right arm out for the girl to mimic. Marianne does so, but looks down at her feet's position relative to his the entire time. The rest of the couples around the room had all begun dancing again well before the two got situated, but they eventually set off as well.

"Sorry," Marianne mumbles at her feet, giving Dimitri a long look at her roots as he adjusts his arm around her side until they both seemed more comfortable. "I'm not a particularly good dancer…"

The Prince laughs and shakes his head.

"That's quite alright, Marianne. I might have fleet footwork when I'm wielding a lance, but I wouldn't be surprised if your feet wind up a little sore after this."

That comment makes Marianne giggle a little, and then encourages her enough to look up and meet Dimitri's gaze.

"You seemed to be doing alright with Ingrid just now."

He shrugs and looks off to the side, making sure nobody was in the path of their outstretched arms before leading Marianne in a quick turn.

The maneuver is mostly successful. It doesn't take the Prince long to readjust after fumbling his footing.

"She mostly took the lead on that I'm afraid," he says with a little reserved awkwardness to his voice and an intense focus on checking his feet relative to hers. "You should have seen that girl Monica when I tripped her earlier. I still fear I'll find a dagger in my chest by the end of the night."

Marianne smiles.

"Good thing Ingrid knew what to do then."

"Yes. Count Galatea is quite insistent on her dancing into some noble's heart."

Hearing that, Marianne's happy look falters.

"Really?" She asks quietly before clearing her throat and speaking up. "My adoptive father is too. He taught me how to dance, but it never really stuck…"

"I don't know about that," Dimitri retorts once he's able to focus less on his feet and more on Marianne again. "You seem to be holding your own quite well."

The blue-haired girl shrugs, tightening the grip of her fingers on Dimitri's cape.

"Perhaps I picked up more than I thought. Guess I just never found the idea of being so close to someone very appealing."

She swallows a lump of nerves, voice falling a few octaves. "Until tonight…"

Dimitri is clearly surprised by the remark, evidenced by his raised eyebrows. But soon the two settle into the thought silently, focusing on just dancing together. As the music takes over, the two look like seasoned veterans despite their previous assertions to the contrary. Marianne even leans her head close to Dimitri's shoulder, just barely threatening to rest her cheek against it.

But the future king calls them both out of the trance by clearing his throat.

"Marianne."

"Yes, Dimitri?"

As she leans her head back to look up at him, his gaze turns slightly more serious.

"Last night, myself and the rest of the original Blue Lions class had a conversation with the Professor," he says. "There's a plan in place for us to gather five years from now, right here at Garreg Mach, on the night of the millennium festival."

Marianne tilts her head curiously, only to find her eyes widening as he continues.

"You're welcome to come out as well, if you would like."

"Oh…" Her voice trails off at first, and then starts to sound muffled as she bites her lower lip. "I don't know. I wouldn't want to impose on you and the others."

It seems Dimitri anticipated that apprehension given his quick chuckle.

"You would not be imposing," he assures her. "You're as much a Blue Lion as the rest of us, even coming from the Alliance."

"It's only been a few months. How much of an impact could I have made?"

"Certainly more than, say, Bernadetta or Caspar. I'm still convinced he only crossed over because we get more intense missions from the Archbishop." He twirls them around again. "You should hear Dedue rave about how nice it is to study with you."

This time Marianne is the one who almost trips, but obviously on account of what he said more than the movement he took her through.

"He said that?" She stutters. "But it's always awkward. We never say anything."

"That's precisely why he likes it," Dimitri assures with another smile as he hoists up her side more. "Dedue appreciates silence. Says he learns most of what he needs to about a person in the intimate moments between words."

"I see…"

She starts to turn her gaze toward the floor again, but Dimitri brings her attention back up with another hoist.

"We like having you around Marianne," he says with a certain genuine softness. "At least, I know I do."

Marianne stares stunned, lips slowly flapping open and shut as she tries to figure out how to respond. Dimitri just continues to look upon her, waiting to see where her response would go.

Nothing is said. Instead, the gravity of the moment between them grows more intense. It seems as if they were in a bubble far away from anyone else, gently swaying.

Without any distractions clouding her mind, Marianne boldly begins to lean in.

Dimitri follows suit. Soon they could feel each other's warm, panting breath.

Then the bubble bursts.

A quick tap on the shoulder brings Dimitri back to attention, leaning away from Marianne again so he can look back over his shoulder. Their dancing stops, and Marianne casts her gaze away with a furious blush.

Lorenz stood behind the Prince of Faerghus, impatiently tapping his foot as he glares down the other boy from under his sharp, V-cut purple bangs.

"You might be royalty, but that doesn't give you the right to hog the lovely noble girls all night."

Dimitri's eyes shakily glance all across Lorenz's figure, taking in everything from his silly haircut to the bright red rose on his lapel — somehow looking fresher than the bouquets adorning various tables around the room.

He looks back at Marianne right after and finds her buried back into herself, unwilling to return his gaze.

With a deep breath, Dimitri lets go of Marianne and steps away.

There's a brief moment where the fingers of her outstretched hand try to latch back around his, only to retreat into a fist as she moves her arms to her lap.

"You're right. I shouldn't have taken up so much of your time," the Prince remarks toward Marianne with a small, hard tone.

"If you'll excuse me, I'm going to get some air."

He quickly turns on his heels and starts making his way toward the classroom courtyard. The blue-haired girl watches Dimitri scamper away, losing any desire she had to run after him as various waltzing couples obscure his retreat into the crowd.

Lorenz steps in front of her, in a pose to start a new dance, and she sighs.

They pull close and latch together, Lorenz's grin vastly juxtaposing Marianne's downtrodden look at their shoes.

"I'm sure you'll find I'm a far superior dancer to that boorish Prince, Marianne."

All she offers is a weak affirmative.

Even though Lorenz continues to talk her ear off, Marianne only hears her own voice berating her for not following Dimitri — whose entire night would take a different direction as he finds Byleth talking to himself outside.


	17. The Cause of Sorrow

_**Fire Emblem: Three Houses won some stuff at The Game Awards last night, so this story might get some extra traffic today. If you're coming in fresh, hello! Welcome to my apparently undying little passion project.**_

_**If you're a usual follower, there's nothing special really planned to coincide with The Game Awards. Unless finally getting into the depressing part of Three Houses is "special."**_

_**In which case, enjoy.**_

* * *

**Part 1 — Ethereal Moon**

_Before the festivities of the Ethereal Moon sucked up all the oxygen in Garreg Mach, Archbishop Rhea and Seteth expressed concerns regarding evidence of intruders in a nearby chapel that once served as temporary housing during Monastery renovations._

_While Byleth and his Blue Lions were assigned to investigate this suspicious activity alongside Jeralt, no real cause to do so had presented itself until the end of the month. Until reports of Demonic Beasts emerging from within the Chapel — within Monastery walls — came from Alois, a Knight who served as an instructor for the Officers' Academy._

_Though Jeralt had only just returned from another mission, he and his son were dispatched to save wayward students from the growing threat._

* * *

Four Demonic Beasts had emerged before the Blue Lions arrived at the chapel, leaving it more ruinous than ever.

Unlike the giant birds and wolves which had run wild across Fódlan since Byleth returned to Zanado on the behest of Sothis some weeks ago, or even the Black Beast that Miklan was twisted into by the Lance of Ruin, this new breed of Demonic Beast appeared far less organic. They looked to be unruly science experiments — a far cry from the victims of circumstantial magic previously encountered.

Wild Demonic Beasts were quadruped blue serpents; overgrown lizards with gnashing teeth dulled by the poisons they spat, as well as beady yellow eyes.

These new Demonic Beasts were similar in form, but had slick, black bodies segmented by cracks that gave each the appearance of being wrapped in bile-soaked gauze. Sharp, fleshy protrusions formed a spine of blades down their rounded backs; abnormally jagged gums replaced what otherwise would have been teeth in their crooked smiles; and they had no visible eyes. The closest facsimile was a cycloptic crest stone in their foreheads, embedded around one of the slender tendrils that ran from tip to tail.

Three of the abominations chased students into the Northwest, Northeast and Southwest corners of the chapel, where they cowered behind small openings that the creatures could barely breech with their claws. Another offered wet, creaking snarls at the entryway of a structure in the central courtyard, calling to a fourth student inside.

With four targets to conquer, Byleth split his burgeoning army into three squadrons: One for the beast immediately to the left of the entrance, one for the beast past a small storeroom to the right and one to tackle the barking beast straight ahead and free the fastest route to the Northwest.

The forward scout straight ahead was Ingrid, whose Pegasus zips above the barking beast.

Its body was constrained by the surrounding architecture, but that didn't stop it from turning its lulled-out whip of a tongue skyward to follow the blonde flier. As she circled back around, the beast rears onto its hind legs and impales one claw into crumbling brick so it can stay upright and swipe with its free claw — like it was swatting at a fly, but a fly nearly a quarter its size.

Ingrid deftly passes around the attack and hovers over a number of her compatriots as they coalesce around the blocked passage. Her gaze focuses on the boney spear in her right hand, a spear with a cochlear shell-design around its red gem.

"Lúin, give me strength."

She closes her eyes as the words pass her tongue, and then the spear's red gem begins to burn bright scarlet.

The Pegasus whinnies as Ingrid makes it fly back with three long flaps, and then charges toward the bottlenecked beast. She twirls the spear fast enough that it creates the illusion of a red ring flying through the air. Just before they reach the beast, she pulls her steed into a sharp left turn and holds her weapon still.

Ingrid smashes Lúin into the beast's head as they pass by, its impact resonating with a mighty thwack. An explosion of energy throws the beast off to the side with a pained screech.

The ground shakes due to Lúin's Burning Quake going off, and then again as the beast topples to the floor. Any defense it might have had from a steady stance was gone.

When the beast fell, so did more of the structure it clawed into. Screams from a girl could be heard inside, but they were drowned out as the Blue Lions ran ahead on the waves of a rallying war cry, now able to get around the fresh rubble and toppled monster.

Dedue is the first grounded soldier to reach the beast's tail despite his heavily armored gait. He skids to a halt before the prehensile appendage and throws his axe high above his head. With a grunt he brings it down fast, immediately severing a thick portion of the tail with his silvery weapon.

That severed tail bit shrivels into a thick cloud of ash as its owner screeches out again, rolling further out of the narrow path in an attempt to stand.

Multiple people quickly pass by to chase down the beast in the Northwest corner of the chapel, leaving a few Blue Lions to finish cleaning up the fallen foe. Dedue continues to hack at its lower back and hind legs, finding it more troublesome to break through that thicker hide. Ingrid flies in to throw piercing jabs around its spiny protrusions, more easily breaking skin with her Heroes' Relic.

The blue-haired Caspar runs up to the beast's head and starts peppering it with rapid jabs using sharp-knuckled gauntlets — more than aptly showing his worth as a recent transfer from the Black Eagles through decisive, fearless action.

However, the death bell for the beast tolls when Byleth approaches, his Sword of the Creator extended into its barbed whip form and glowing red. He throws the whip back like a fishing pole before cutting it across a mound of dark hide. Flesh rends immediately under the slice, revealing sickly red meat under the shredded gauze skin.

He brings his weapon up over his other shoulder and cuts again, leaving a cross-shape on its body.

But the stoic instructor doesn't stop.

He attacks in that same X pattern over and over again, grinding up the beast's torso until it's raw. Monstrous opponents had a history of taking a beating and getting back up, so Byleth knew they needed to take it down fast with thorough damage.

Not long after, the beast's gurgling cries and writhing slow to a stop, punctuated by one last twitch.

As Byleth pulls his sword back into its natural state, Jeralt runs up next to him on horseback and stops by having it rear onto its hind legs with a whinny.

"Nice work, kid."

The gruff, scarred-up man smiles down at his son, dirty blonde hair and bright orange shirt standing out against the ancient, dreary ruins around them. His worn armor glistens in the bright sunlight.

"Starting to think you might be getting too good at killing these beasts, though." His voice is slow and deliberate. "We mercenaries are used to being in combat, but nobody should have to face these things half as often as you and your students."

The silent man offers a subdued smile up at his father, which makes Jeralt laugh.

"That said it would have taken eons to get you to smile as much as you do now. So who knows, maybe this whole teaching thing isn't so bad after all."

Their brief moment of respite is interrupted as the felled beast begins to writhe violently again. Caspar falls back with a yelp near the front where he had been inspecting it, while Dedue holds up his shield to prepare for the worst.

Byleth and Jeralt raise their weapons together.

However the preparation is in vain. Instead of standing up, as most Demonic Beasts had in the past, this beast begins to shrink with each jerking motion.

Every spasm comes with a sickening crack, as if bones were being broken and moved under its tattered skin. Soon it became clear why, as the massive quadruped changes into a regular-sized human form before their very eyes. Beside the body lay a shattered gem, the same crest stone that had fallen out of the beast's forehead when it first began to decay.

From the sky, Ingrid gasps and covers her mouth. Caspar looks away from the mangled young body before them.

Jeralt sheathes his weapon and then dismounts from his horse, approaching the body of their former bestial foe alongside Byleth.

"The Demonic Beasts were actually students?" Jeralt questions in a hoarse sickened voice. "How can this be…"

Their attention is drawn up again by the sniffles of a red-haired girl stumbling out of the previously assaulted structure.

Byleth tilts his head curiously.

"Monica?"

* * *

The ghastly Demonic Beasts at the Southwest and Northeast corners of the chapel perish soon thereafter, felled by Sylvain's Lance of Ruin and the combined projectile attacks of Ashe, Bernadetta and Annette respectively.

But the beast furthest from the entrance took more work.

Felix had taken point, safely bringing Mercedes up to the endangered student's hidey-hole to provide medical assistance if necessary. Marianne helped to facilitate their approach by throwing icicles at the beast's torso and head.

Her efforts proved a little too fruitful, as a particularly hard hit to the head brings its slobbering gaze (or lack thereof) around toward her. It's able to whip its giant body around easily thanks to not being in an enclosed space. From there it doesn't take long until Marianne is caught in the shadow of a fast-approaching monster.

The blue-haired cleric can barely keep her footing as she backs away, growing more panicked seeing how quickly it closes the gap. Her spell tossing grows more rushed and volatile, but each icy blast merely knocks its head slightly askew.

"S-Somebody?" Marianne cries out, overwhelmed by the snarling beast. "Help!"

It drops its head close to the dusty floor, trailing viscous drool as its maw opens wide to scoop up a quick snack on the way to more rampaging.

Yet that approach is stopped when a dark figure leaps out of a nearby tree and descends upon the beast. A lance thrusts straight through its crest stone, shattering it like a skull, and then impaling the head to its jaw and the hard earth below like a shish kabob.

The beast squeals for only a moment before falling limp.

After Dimitri straightens out and pulls his weapon free with a bloody squelch, splattering some of the black bile onto himself and Marianne, he looks toward her.

For just a moment she stares with heart-stopping terror at the deep lines of tense anger etched into his features. His hair fell in front of his face slightly, obscuring what she could tell were sullen eyes with beady, shaking pupils.

Yet he quickly relaxes upon seeing her wide-eyed look of terror. By the time he clears the hair from his face with his free hand, his entire expression had softened — though his heavy pant remained. Dimitri hops off the slain beast and lands with a heavy clunk in front of her.

"Are you okay, Marianne?" He asks.

She could tell he was still restraining whatever anger was pent up in the back of his throat, but she still met his question with a gentle nod.

"Yes…" She mumbles, looking down at her blood-splattered hands and wiping them off on her black skirt. "Thank you, Dimitri."

Awkward tension wafts in the air around them, remnant from the night of the ball. Marianne swallows back her nerves before glancing up at the prince again, opening her mouth to try and form some kind of question.

She doesn't get the chance, as a sharp cry rings out from the center of the chapel.

It came from a voice neither would have expected.

"Professor?" Marianne questions as she turns around, joined by Dimitri at her side to try and get a better look.

The sight is grim.

Jeralt falls to his knees, crimson red running down his back — the same shade that drips from a curved dagger in the hand of Monica just behind him. Her bright hair and eyes fade as clouds began to cluster overhead.

Byleth's sword retracts after bouncing off of an ethereal, cosmic black-and-blue shield of energy that was projected by a tall, imposing man in a maroon cape.

The mysterious figure had the same completely albino complexion as Solon; with blank white eyes, a beard that protruded in three directions off his chin and eyebrows that blended into the veins running up from his neck.

He was clearly a member of Those Who Slither in the Dark.

But just as quickly as he arrived to thwart Byleth's attempt at stopping Monica, he whisked himself and the red-haired student away in a flash of dark energy.

Byleth, usually as calm and composed as they came, let his Heroes' Relic drop to the dirt as he frantically ran to his father. The old Captain falls to the floor, succumbing to his wound.

For the first and last time in his life, Jeralt would see his son cry.

But Byleth's tears blended into the heavy downpour that seemed to poetically — and cruelly — choose this moment to drench the battlefield in a miserable shade.


	18. A Dreary Day in Garreg Mach — Part 1

_**So I was perhaps too hasty in seeing The Game Awards as a source of extra traffic. Turned out last week's chapter garnered the least amount of views this story has seen in a while.**_

_**But I'm not just talking about metrics twice in a row because of some sudden obsession with audience engagement. It's been on my mind because this story hit 10,000 views this week! Don't know if that's necessarily a big number as far as this site is concerned, but it's a bigger milestone than I expected to hit when I started publishing here a few months ago.**_

_**Seriously, thank you all for taking the time out of your lives every week to keep up with this story — or any of my other stories for that matter. It means so much to me during a time when finding actual work is a painful slog.**_

_**To celebrate, I'm going to handle the next bit of the Three Houses story a little differently. I have a couple different ideas for immediate post-Jeralt death content, so instead of choosing what could be the most "relevant" and culling the rest, I'm going to write up four shorter chunks and publish them every day this weekend.**_

_**It's definitely for your benefit as a reader and not a way to ensure I get extra engagement by being on the updated stories page more often. I promise.**_

_**For those of you reading way in the future, this notice shouldn't mean much. It's more an announcement for everyone who is keeping up weekly as this story gets produced.**_

_**Again thank you all so, so much! I know I've been getting self-indulgent with the author's notes recently, but massive text walls should cool off for a while.**_

… _**Though while I'm here, the general concept for the first part of this mini-series has inspirations from "Our Professor" by ShadowBlade4444 [ID: 5244981], specifically Chapter 20: "Slumber Party."**_

_**You'll see why after these introductory messages.**_

* * *

**Part 1 — Guardian Moon**

_Though the transition into the Guardian Moon is typically garnished by hope, as it was in the far past when Saint Seiros first appeared in the city of Enbarr, Garreg Mach felt nothing but the somber throb of pain following the deaths of Jeralt and multiple Officers Academy students by Those Who Slither in the Dark._

_As winter reached its midpoint and began to wean, heavier and increasingly warmer rains replaced crisp snowfall. Much of the Oghma Mountains were encumbered by messy slush as a result._

_However, many chose to see this natural transition of the seasons as an expression of solidarity from the Goddess — a sign that she, too, wept in the wake of tragedy on Monastery grounds._

_For some that solidarity brought comfort. For others it brought painful memories._

* * *

The drumming pitter-patter of rain on the roofs of Garreg Mach's dormitories made for a relaxing ambiance to many students.

None more, it seemed, than Edelgard von Hresvelg and Dorothea Arnault.

Taking part in leisurely activities across Monastery grounds was hard to justify in the Sunday downpour. Even the Greenhouse was closed off after leaks were discovered in the ancient architecture that left pools of water all over the ground and planters. So the duo of Black Eagles' students decided to stay inside and provide the future heiress some "girl time" that her songstress companion feared she might have missed out on given the weight of her birthright.

To that end, Edelgard sat on the edge of her bed with her hands folded patiently in her lap as Dorothea pulled at strands of long white hair from her knees atop the mattress.

Both elected — nay, Dorothea _demanded_ — that they stay in their pajamas the entire day. That left Edelgard in her scarlet nightgown, which draped plentifully around her leopard-print slippers on the cool floor; and Dorothea in a more understated low-cut black shirt, grey slacks with a glaring patch of beige fabric affectionately sewn onto the right thigh, and nothing but her black-painted toenails against the fabric of the bed.

"Ow!" The heiress cries out as her head pulls to the right thanks to a hard tug.

Dorothea winces at the sound and slows down for a moment to give Edelgard time to re-adjust her head.

"Sorry Edie," she coos. "Still getting used to styling this new hairdo."

"It's fine. I just wish you would let me see what you're doing."

"Oh come now, can't you relinquish a little bit of control for all of twenty minutes?"

Dorothea snickers, leading Edelgard to roll her eyes.

"As far as I can tell we passed the twenty-minute mark ten minutes ago."

"Well why don't you just relax and not worry about it!" The songstress dramatically pulls her hands out of the wispy strands of her friend's hair and then rests them on her hips. "This is supposed to be a fun girl's night, remember?"

"Yes, yes. I remember." Edelgard looks back and smiles warmly. "Even if Bernadetta decided to skip out."

"Well she's an odd duck that one," Dorothea mumbles defensively.

She then brings her hands up to manually force Edelgard's gaze back toward the wall ahead of them, that way she can get to work.

"It's alright though. I did want to make today more about you, Edie." Dorothea sighs. "I know you were rather close to that snake Monica."

Just under her breath she adds, "Even if I told you she was bad news."

Edelgard closes her eyes and takes a deep, calming breath in through her nose. For once she was glad to not be facing Dorothea directly, as it was getting hard for her to decide how much information her friend deserved to know. That indecision was written all over her face, making it difficultto feign a complete sense of dread.

"Yes, you did." She settles on the thought with a reluctant-sounding sigh. "I should have put more stock in your judgment Dorothea. It has yet to fail me."

"Damn right you should have." The songstress giggles as she shifts her focus to the left side of Edelgard's head.

At that Edelgard reaches back and rests a hand on Dorothea's thigh, requesting a pause before she turns to see the other girl's twinkling green eyes.

"Honestly, though. I'm glad to have you at my side during these trying times," the heiress says. Her own pale, purple eyes falter downward as her speech grows softer and more genuine.

"I hope I can expect your continued support going forward, Dorothea. It would be calming to have a presence like yours at my right hand as I ascend to the throne."

Dorothea is taken aback, being used to her house leader's more hard-lined approach to 'rallying the troops.'

She brings a hand up over her fast-beating heart before smiling.

"Aw, Edie!" She laughs once more, driving Edelgard's gaze forward voluntarily. "That's so sweet… But I think Hubie already has your right hand under lock-and-key."

Edelgard shrugs, her flushed cheeks fading. The girl had a point.

"Well you can take my left hand, then."

"Are you sure keeping a lowly commoner at your side will appease those naysayers in the Empire?"

There's a pause, as Edelgard seems to chew over her statement. Dorothea is left feeling awkward and starts styling that long white hair again.

But eventually the future Emperor speaks up, her voice proud and composed:

"We've discussed this before Dorothea," she begins. "When I take the throne, I'm going to create a future where one's status at birth has no bearing on their lot in life. When we spend time together like this, we are not an heiress and a common opera singer; we're simply… Us. Just me and you."

Edelgard turns her head just slightly, enough to glance at Dorothea through her peripheral vision without imposing on the hair styling.

"That's how I want all of Fódlan to be, too."

The end of her statement coincides pretty closely to the end of Dorothea's work.

She pulls her hands away from Edelgard's scalp with a blubbery smile before tackling her into a tight hug from behind. Edelgard gasps out all the air in her gullet as Dorothea's vice grip around her waist takes hold.

"And that's part of why I like you so much Edie," Dorothea mumbles into her friend's shoulder. "So optimistic, so driven about the future…"

"Only part of?" Edelgard asks in a teasing, though breathless, tone.

"It helps that you have such perfect hair, too."

Dorothea giggles as she pulls away and grabs a hand mirror on the bed nearby before crawling to sit next to the other girl.

"Here, tell me what you think!" She hands off the mirror. "It's supposed to be the look I'm taking on for the Empress role in Mittelfrank's next opera. I figure who better to approve it than you, right?"

Edelgard holds the mirror as far as her outstretched arm can handle, and tries to move it around for different angles.

The look was simple. Her typically long, free hair was pressed in to look shorter, with all excess tied off in buns on either side of her head. Only a few loose strands hung down past the front of her shoulders, framing her slender face well.

It was clearly appealing, as evidenced by a smile curling the corners of Edelgard's lips that Dorothea mirrored tenfold.

"It's quite nice," she says before clicking her tongue.

"Though it could use a crown."


	19. A Dreary Day in Garreg Mach — Part 2

Bernadetta disliked being outside on a good day.

If it were at all possible to mandate the kitchen deliver food like her family's servants did back home, she likely would never leave her room. Even Professor Byleth — whose near-daily knocks at her door was an unprecedented comfort — had trouble dragging her into the world for impending travel or combat.

But it was precisely because of the Blue Lion's Professor that she embarked on a journey across Monastery grounds in the dreary afternoon weather.

Her oft-disheveled appearance; everything from that messy purple bedhead to the bare-minimum uniform pieces clearly bulging over a navy blue hoodie; was comically more unruly than ever thanks to the heavy rains that were barely held back by an umbrella befitting someone three-times as big.

Yet she rebuked nature rubbing salt in the exposed wound of her outdoor odyssey by remaining outside in spite of it all.

Byleth had been locked away in his room for over a week following his father's death. It was a concerning pattern for anyone in the Academy beyond Bernadetta herself (and occasionally Marianne or Linhardt), but nobody faulted him for taking the time to grieve. Not even those students forced to temporarily return to their previous instructors.

The skittish purple-haired girl had wanted to return his daily gesture of solidarity by knocking at the door to his room at the end of the dormitories… But chickened out.

So instead she decided to pay her respects in a way that involved less social interaction: Visiting the grave Jeralt now shared with his long-deceased wife.

Yet the Goddess seemed to be conspiring against even this simple gesture.

By the time she arrived, Archbishop Rhea was already visiting the newly carved marker in the small graveyard that overlooked the chasm bisecting the Monastery, situated right beside its grand bridge.

Bernadetta stood patiently on the higher, paved walkway surrounding the graveyard. She figured it would be easy enough to brave the deluge until Rhea left, that way she could slink around to the opposite staircase and drop her singular rose off at Jeralt's grave without a single conversation impeding her return journey home; A journey that promised the distinctive comforts of sewing under a pile of comfy blankets.

Except… The Archbishop didn't leave.

That inconsiderate green-haired matriarch just stood unmoving in front of the grave for dozens of minutes on end, her head slightly ducked — and who knows how long she had been there before Bernadetta arrived!

It was baffling to the young girl, especially considering Rhea had no umbrella to speak of. She simply let the rain pour down onto her figure, at this point rolling off of her oversaturated white, black and gold ornate robes like waterfalls.

Being a recluse made Bernadetta a patient person. She was used to waiting long stretches of time to ensure she could accomplish a task with no interruptions.

But even she was starting to grow impatient, possibly to the point of doing the unthinkable: Raising her voice at the Archbishop to get her way.

… Okay, she couldn't actually bring herself to do that.

Luckily she wouldn't have the chance to deeply consider it before another figure stealthily approaches from behind, masked by the sounds of rain pounding against the pavement.

"What's up, Bernie-Bear?"

Bernadetta squeals and practically slips as she twirls around to face the new voice with bug-eyed fear.

That fear was met by the nonchalant grin of Sylvain, whose scruffy red hair was safe under the wide-brim of his own dark umbrella.

He stood close enough that their umbrellas overlapped, which normally would have sent the frightened girl scampering away if it didn't happen to protect her more from the storm.

"D-Don't call me that!" She stutters out before turning away from him again, locking her gaze on the Archbishop's back. "Why do you always insist on humiliating me, Sylvain?"

"I see it more as a difference of opinion," he remarks while literally waving her comment off with his free hand.

"There's never been a time where I've come out with the expressed intention of humiliating you. It just so happens I think your reactions are cute enough that I'm willing to risk letting you _believe_ that's what I'm doing."

Sylvain's grin widens, but it's pointed directly at the back of Bernadetta's head.

As soon as it becomes obvious she isn't going to dignify the response by turning back to see that grin, however, he lets his lips relax.

Clearly he needed a change of pace if he wanted her to open up.

So he focuses on the same thing she was: Rhea.

"You know, I've heard through the grapevine that the Archbishop and Captain Jeralt were pretty close back in the day." Sylvain's serious subject matter briefly draws a glance out of her. "Not like 'get in a sauna together' close, but Alois says she might be more broken up about this than anyone."

"Certainly not more than the Professor," Bernadetta mumbles back.

Sylvain chuckles and shakes his head.

"No, certainly not. I'd agree with you there."

He tries to rest a comforting hand on her shoulder, but that finally drives her to take a few steps away. Not enough to be out of earshot, but enough to drench his forearm in the re-opened wall of rain.

The red-haired boy quickly pulls his hand back and shakes it off under the cover of his umbrella.

"But still, I heard Jeralt saved the Archbishop's life when they were way younger." Bernadetta's eyes widen at the thought as she looks at Sylvain again. He nods, assuring that she heard right. "If you think that's crazy, supposedly she returned the favor with some crazy magic that brought him back from the brink of death!"

The girl sighs, idly spinning the handle of her umbrella so droplets of water sprinkle around her in curving patterns.

"It's too bad she couldn't have done that now," she laments. "I hate seeing the Professor so upset when all he does is make us happy…"

Sylvain scratches the back of his hair while she sniffles back a sob.

"I know what you mean," he acknowledges softly.

They both fall silent and continue to watch over the still Archbishop, her half-circle crowned headpiece glistening with drops of water even under the overcast sky.

But the original Blue Lion wasn't done yet. It was so rare to get Bernadetta talking, after all.

"You know, I bet this moment would be perfect to replicate in your book."

She squeals lightly hearing that, and then tries to duck her head.

"D-Do you really have to keep bringing that up too?!"

"Only as long as you keep letting me beta read chapters."

He chuckles, much to her groaning chagrin.

"Seriously though, it's a real poetic look don't you think?" He scoots closer to the recluse again; pointing out Rhea to draw her eyes that way. "Someone standing out at a grave, unconcerned about the raging weather around them. Their white clothes soaked through, but they don't care! All that matters is the deference they have toward the dead, personal well-being be damned."

As much as she hated to admit it, Bernadetta could feel the gears turning in her head as he set that scene. She barely nods, which was enough of an acknowledgement to warrant another one of his patented sharp-toothed grins.

"I suppose it is poetic," she mumbles.

Then her voice picks up as she looks over and lightly chides him.

"When you started that off, I figured you only cared about her outfit being soaked for… Other reasons."

Sylvain is stunned at her surprise burst of teasing confidence.

"Hey come on, I'm not that bad!"

"Sometimes you are…"

She shrugs, and he slumps his shoulders in response.

"It's okay, though." Again he looks surprised at her forwardness. "I'm pretty used to it by now, and some people must find it appealing. Mercedes certainly seems to."

Sylvain squints and leans forward, trying to glance at her downtrodden eyes.

"What's that about Mercedes?"

Realizing she's said too much, Bernadetta's eyes widen again as her entire form tenses. She rapidly shakes her head to dissuade him before turning and running off into the hallway outside of the gathering hall — back in the direction of her room.

"I-It's nothing! Nothing!" She cries out from afar.

The redhead just stands back, looking more confused than ever.

"Man, what was that all about?"


	20. A Dreary Day in Garreg Mach — Part 3

Far south of the Monastery's graveyard, four girls of the Leicester Alliance sat together at a covered table in a plaza outside the Entrance Hall.

Hilda, Marianne, Lysithea and Leonie — seated in that order clockwise — each had a steaming cup of tea and a slice of lemony-yellow cake before them. The centerpiece of the table was an ornate white teapot to complete the china set.

The pink-haired daughter of House Goneril raises her tea to the sky, drawing all six eyes around her.

"To Captain Jeralt," she remarks simply.

Three teacups rise up next to hers, and the other girls mimic her sentiment.

Then they all fall quiet; sipping at the brown leaf water as the sky continues to unleash its relentless deluge all around their covered picnicking spot.

The rain started to come down hard enough that it became difficult to see through the misty spray rising from the earth, leaving the four seemingly trapped in their own plane of existence.

Lysithea is the first to put her cup back down on its saucer, kvetching about the bitter aftertaste under her breath.

She snatches a hunk of cake off its perfectly triangular slice with her petite bare hand and starts nibbling at it like a rabbit. Her pale, pink eyes close as she moans lovingly at the sweet-tasting treat.

Marianne cracks a bare smile at the sight when she, too, sets her cup down and begins digging into the cake with a fork and knife.

Hilda continues to nurse the steaming cup of tea just under her lips so she could absorb its fleeting warmth, ignoring the cake in favor of looking around at her companions.

"I'm so glad we were able to get together today," she remarks with a peppy tone contrasting the dreadful weather 'today' had presented. "It's been way too long."

"Doesn't help that Marianne decided to transfer out," Lysithea mumbles into her chunk of cake with a teasing spitefulness.

Marianne's silverware clatters as she abruptly sets the fork and knife down.

"I'm sorry Lysithea," she manages to stutter out through a hard swallow. "Professor Hanneman just… Was not a good instructor for me."

The white-haired girl shrugs.

"I don't see why! He's a brilliant magic user. And if you were looking for help on white magic, Manuela would have been a far better choice."

"I'm actually trying to learn a little bit of physical combat right now," Marianne mutters. "With… With lances, mostly."

"What?! Oh. Well I guess sticking by Dimitri makes sense, huh."

They continue to go back-and-forth under Hilda's watchful gaze. But soon her sentry-like vision turns far enough to catch Leonie.

The orange-haired girl was staring down at her untouched cake with a forlorn distance in her eyes.

Hilda frowns, but quickly pivots it into a smile before speaking up.

"How are you holding up, Leonie?"

Marianne and Lysithea immediately break up their side-conversation and look toward her as well. Leonie, the only girl of common blood amongst them, uncharacteristically shrinks into herself under that extra attention.

"As well as I can be, I suppose." She shrugs meekly. "Captain Jeralt- He was my hero, you know?"

Hilda nods as Lysithea finishes off the chunk of cake she'd been slowly devouring.

"Not a bad one to choose," the white-haired girl says with her over-emphatic and serious tone intact, despite the sensitive subject matter. "He certainly got things done in a timely manner."

"Even though it seemed like he didn't want to be here half the time," Hilda adds.

In contrast to Lysithea's eager assertions into the group's conversation that felt tailor-made to present her as a more mature presence, Marianne looks around with a forkful of cake lingering around her lips as she waits for a pause.

"And he was a very nice guy."

She speaks softly into the spongy dessert before silencing herself by eating it.

"Yeah!" Hilda exclaims, surprising Marianne to almost the point of choking by slapping her shoulder in agreement. "He wasn't some secret scumbag like that librarian."

As the rain around them softens, Leonie's stifled sniffles gained prominence.

Everyone turns her attention to Leonie again, finding the usually haughty cavalier unable to glance up from her plate. Her arms were shuttering, and she looked pale.

"Hey?" Hilda calls out to her while starting to reach across the table. "Are you—"

Leonie jumps to her feet, causing Hilda to jerk her hand back. The chair she had been sitting on practically falls over from the sudden movement, but she did not pay it any mind. She leans forward; one hand over her stomach while the other covers her quivering lips.

"I'm… I'm sorry…" Leonie whimpers out, seemingly doing everything in her power not to retch and collapse right in front of her concerned friends. "I can't do this."

She whips around and runs off into the rain, masking the streams of tears running down her cheeks before eventually just disappearing into the fog of the middle distance.

"Leonie!" Hilda cries out, standing up herself as if preparing to run after her.

But she doesn't. Instead, she plops back down onto the seat with a heavy lament.

"Damnit," she hisses through clenched teeth. "I was doing this for her."

Marianne rests a hand on Hilda's leg, rubbing it calmingly.

"It's okay," she remarks in a somewhat assuring voice. "I think it was a lovely attempt, Hilda. She just needs time."

"Yeah."

Lysithea's agreement was passive. As Marianne and Hilda look toward her they'd see why: She was distracted; mentally undressing Leonie's slice of cake as she picks up the departed girl's plate and slides the discarded dessert onto hers.

"Lysithea!" Hilda yells.

"What?" Lysithea brushes off the borderline-disgust with a shrug before picking up the entire new slice of cake and biting into it.

She hadn't even finished off her first piece.

"It's not like she's going to be eating it anymore, is she?" Lysithea's words come out in the spaces between her eager chewing. "It would be a shame to let such a scrumptious sweet go to waste."

Defeated, Hilda drops her head into her folded arms on the table and sighs.

In a nervously half-hearted attempt to console her, Marianne reaches out and starts patting the top of Hilda's head. That leads Hilda to peek out toward her.

"Thanks," she says, muffled by her arms.

As she lifts her head back up, using her bent-up right arm as a brace, Hilda catches Marianne smiling and returns one of her own.

"You know…" Hilda's voice trails off wistfully while brushing one of her ponytails over her shoulder. "Seems like you've been downright chipper the last few times I've seen you. Compared to earlier this year, anyway."

Marianne immediately looks away to hide the heat rushing to her cheeks.

"I don't know that I'd say that," she stutters out — though it doesn't sound entirely too convincing. "In fact, I've been rather distraught recently."

"Distraught?" Hilda sits up straight, concern tugging at her lips. "Over Jeralt?"

The blue-haired girl goes to speak, but leaves her mouth silently hanging open as a realization clearly washes over her. She didn't actually want to get into this. Yet she had backed herself into a corner, and now both Hilda and Lysithea were keeping her trapped there with inquisitive gazes.

Why couldn't she have the constitution to just escape into the rain like Leonie?

"Maybe?" Marianne ekes out while slumping further into her seat. "I've heard rumors about strange people appearing in a nearby forest after the chapel attack. But everyone is still so hurt, would be right to give them more to fret over?"

Before Hilda has the chance to speak up, Lysithea drops the remaining bits of her cake back onto its plate and leans in with a squint.

"Why are you gathering intel about strange forest activities exactly?"

Marianne drains of color as she faces the interrogation she had feared. Hilda seems less suspicious than the younger Golden Deer girl, and even looks shocked at what came across so blatantly aggressive.

But Lysithea was one who always felt a need to assert herself, to prove that she could play five moves ahead of her contemporaries despite their seniority.

Marianne knew she needed to work around that.

"It's… Just… Um…"

The rocky start draws deeper contemplation from the white-haired mage, who covers her mouth with interlacing fingers.

"Come on Lysithea," Hilda interjects in a clear attempt to de-escalate the tension. "This is Marianne we're talking about, you're acting like—"

"No."

Marianne reaches out to interrupt Hilda, surprising both of the other girls.

"You don't need to defend me Hilda, I understand her concern." Though it made her feel sick, Marianne keeps as confident a poise possible. "With everything that has happened lately, it only seems right to question everything."

She looks to Lysithea for confirmation, and the young girl provides it with a nod.

"Back in Edmund I had a few of our servants patrol the woods to make sure the wildlife was thriving," she says. "It always made me feel comfortable to know that there were animals around to fall back on if my adoptive father got too overwhelming. So when we came here, I found some members of the Monastery willing to do the same."

As Marianne tells her tale, Hilda smiles encouragingly and Lysithea begins to look remorseful, casting her eyes aside.

"Sounds just like you, Marianne." Hilda chuckles and shakes her head.

"It does," Lysithea mumbles immediately after before speaking up again. "I'm sorry I doubted you, even for a moment."

The cleric breathes a sigh of relief.

"Though if you really think what you've heard is concerning, it would be wrong to keep it to yourself." Lysithea's stern comment earns a nod from Hilda. "Any glean of possible information we can get on those dastards would be beneficial, don't you think?"

"I do," Marianne acknowledges with a nod. "I'll talk to Dimitri at least, see what he has to say.

As Hilda and Lysithea break into some other mundane conversation, Marianne stares off into the rain. Any semblance of joy she'd started this outing with had sunk back into her typically sullen disposition.

It seemed her friends had not caught her lying through her teeth. But even if they hadn't this time, who knew when more questioning would come?

The longer she could keep concerns about her hidden crest to herself, the better.


	21. A Dreary Day in Garreg Mach — Part 4

If there was anyone truly pained by the seemingly endless rain that drenched Garreg Mach, it was Byleth.

Upon his return from the battle against the Demonic Beasts in the chapel; after which he led his father's trusty steed by the reigns as it carried Jeralt's lifeless body; Byleth had been met by more love and support than he could have imagined possible just a year prior.

Not only were his students accepting of the time he'd require to grieve, so too was Archbishop Rhea. She offered him a month free of the usual humdrum tasks he had come to expect as a professor, with Hanneman and Manuela taking on all teaching duties.

It was nice — or as nice as it could be, given the circumstances.

He spent nearly a full week taking advantage of the isolated time he had been given: Doing nothing more than sleeping, eating and crying.

Every time he felt a pull deep in his core to finally stand back up and do something — anything really, the thundering downpour on the roof and walls of his room beat him back down into submission.

Though he was not outside and drenched like that afternoon where he watched his father's light fade, his soul felt just as heavy from the mere association.

But then, just the afternoon prior, things began to change.

During a rare break in the storm, Byleth managed to get his everyday attire back on and made his way out to get some food at the Dining Hall.

Yet he never made it there.

Instead he let his feet carry him outside the walls of Garreg Mach, figuring a little exercise and fresh air would do him some good. Wandering a nearby town offered him some perspective; a reminder that even as he stood still, the world kept spinning.

It was almost enough to break him out of that relentless rut.

And then he ran into Dimitri.

The two caught sight of their enemies hiding in plain sight just outside the town: Monica and Solon with the Flame Emperor, all awash in a fiery sunset that seemed to mimic the rage bubbling under Byleth and Dimitri's typically cool exteriors.

Byleth had restrained his student just long enough to avoid an encounter, though the Flame Emperor was suspicious enough to try and drive them out of hiding with a flung dagger.

Something about the strange sense of familiarity Dimitri expressed toward that discarded weapon, as well as the words they exchanged after, stuck with Byleth.

Even the next day, where he now sat half-dressed on the edge of his bed, those words bounced around Byleth's skull louder than the sounds of rain all around him.

Sothis was, of course, blatantly aware of his inner-turmoil.

"You are still thinking about him, aren't you?"

The ethereal girl floated before him in the middle of the dorm, her expression solely one of concern.

Neither party seemed to mind that Byleth was still shirtless, leaving every (rather well-built) inch of his battle-scarred chest and stomach exposed to cold air that left it covered in goose bumps.

"My father?" He asks as though her question was stupid, even if his voice remains as stony and contemplative as ever. "How could I not be?"

"No, not him!"

With a scoff, the silver specter twirls around in the air, momentarily getting lost in her waterfall of emerald hair. She floats backward until she could sit down on the bed beside Byleth. As she looks up at him there, the conversation felt a little more natural.

In spite of the fact that her slight pout and inability to reach the floor with anything but her toes made it hard to separate Sothis' wisdom from her youthful form.

"I mean the Prince. He may not have seen me, but you know I was there for everything yesterday."

She leans in and mouths "everything" again, just for emphasis.

Byleth rolls his eyes and reaches back to grab his shirt so he could throw it on as they talked.

"I've noticed, and frankly I wish you were here less."

Sothis offers a very over-dramatic gasp at his comment, and looks toward him with her mouth agape and a hand over her bosom until his shirt no longer obscures his line of sight.

"Doesn't it feel disingenuous to tell everyone I'd like to grieve alone, only to come back and find you lingering about?"

"I've given you plenty of time to grieve on your own!" She cries out, punching his bed with both hands. "You say that as if you have not enjoyed having my shoulder to cry on you… You… Ungrateful cur!"

When she hurls that insult, it counter-intuitively brings a small smile to his face.

"No, you're right."

He ruffles the top of her hair (much to Sothis' obvious chagrin) before standing.

"I have appreciated you being here for me, Sothis."

Though it takes her a moment to stop looking annoyed at his infantilizing gesture, the ethereal girl does eventually break a smile of her own thanks to his comment.

"Well it's not like I've had much of a choice," she retorts teasingly.

The Blue Lions' Professor moves over to the other side of the room, his every action observed by Sothis. He takes his armor-plated gloves off a coatrack next to his desk and starts to pull them over his bare hands and long sleeves.

"I suppose you're right about Dimitri taking residence in my head as well," he says with his back turned away from the girl's growing curiosity.

"Are you truly considering his... How do I say..." She briefly rubs her chin. "Vengeful condolences?"

"Well he wasn't wrong," Byleth responds as his right glove locks into place so he can focus on the left. "Those monsters took his family and friends years ago, just as they took Jeralt from me."

"And I can sympathize with the both of you," Sothis coos before rising up again and floating toward Byleth.

"But his offer, to find justice by pointing him at your foes like a weapon. Does that not seem extreme to you?"

Byleth turns around, causing Sothis to yelp as she halts face-to-face with him.

"I'm not sure that it does anymore."

His left glove locks into place, and the mechanical click makes Sothis wince.

"Obviously I would not send him into the abyss without at least a proper plan, nor would I for any of my students." He rests his hands on his hips and glances at Sothis with a determination burning deep in his emotionless eyes. "But I'm not sure I realized how similar Dimitri and I were until yesterday. Everything down to our thirst for justice by any means."

Next Byleth turns to pull his actual coat off the hanger.

Sothis has to float back to avoid being hit in the face as he throws the thing around his shoulders, and then moves to be in front of him while he ties it in place.

"Well it's certainly nice to see you back to some semblance of normal, Byleth. Even if I'm somewhat concerned that it's murderous intent which led you there."

"I'm a mercenary," he remarks with a chuckle. "It comes with the territory."

"Fair enough." With a smile, Sothis backs up until she's leaning against the wall beside the door. "I certainly can't fault you for pointing that intent at creatures who would experiment on children."

Byleth faces the door as he makes final adjustments to his outfit, ensuring it fit snugly.

"Where are you off to with this newfound energy then?" The ethereal girl asks.

He nods to her before grabbing the umbrella leaning against his desk. Another cold front blows into the room as he makes his way outside.

"Jeralt left me something in his office. I think it's about time I go pick it up."

Sothis follows, whimsical gliding like a bird.

"If it's a mission of closure, you can count me in!" It seemed her spirit was brightened alongside his, more evidence of their deep bond.

"I'm still hoping I'll be able to feel this rain eventually. Perhaps today's the day!"


	22. Skirmish in the Sealed Forest

**Part 1 — Guardian Moon**

_The heavy air around Garreg Mach lingered even as its residents returned to a status quo. However, any semblance of a "normal" life did not last long._

_It soon became apparent that the unusual figures in the Sealed Forest near the Monastery were, in fact, the same villains who wreaked havoc the month before and killed the Captain of the Knights of Seiros._

_Archbishop Rhea intended to solve the problem without involving Byleth or his students, as she feared their hunger for revenge would make it too easy to bait a trap. But Dimitri was able to convince her otherwise through early knowledge of the situation he gathered from Marianne, as well as the argument that Byleth's Sword of the Creator could spare the church further casualties._

_So she let the Blue Lions take charge, and they made their way out to the forest._

* * *

Those Who Slither in the Dark had taken residence deep within the Sealed Forest. The now abandoned stretch of the woods had been cleared out long ago, and still retained its figure eight pattern despite the more apparent paths being overgrown with vines and foliage.

In the center of the area was a large open-air arena comprised of a flat rectangle of chiseled, mossy stone that barely protruded out of the dirt with four pillars laid out like diamonds in each corner. To reach it, the Blue Lions had to circle around a clump of trees that served as the null space in the bottom half of the eight-shaped path.

Yet this was easier said than done, as the trees housed danger at every turn.

The most prominent of these dangers were more Demonic Beasts of the same ilk as those that attacked the chapel the month prior — likely also students of the Officers Academy whose fates were sealed the moment they heard the pied piper's hypnotizing call.

A squadron of masked soldiers supported each wretched monster, sporting armor with the same markings as those that attacked Garreg Mach's Holy Mausoleum and Remire Village.

Though none of those soldiers seemed particularly difficult for the Blue Lions to dispatch, the affair was made more difficult by the presence of a new threat: Kronya.

When Byleth and his students first arrived at the forested figure eight, they found the redheaded Black Eagles alumna Monica waiting. But upon finding her pray, she welcomed them to the "forest of death" with a cheery smile before literally shedding the young girl's skin.

In place of the doppelgänger shell was an unhinged, scantily clad harlequin of sorts. Kronya's true form was an orange-haired woman with ghost-white skin and a pension for spikey and black attire that read more like a natural pattern across her body than it did armor. Helping with that illusion were a number of paper-thin black tendrils that seemed to break off of her spine and protrude through the skin of her back, each tipped with a nasty orange stinger reminiscent of a scorpion's tail.

Those tendrils proved themselves to be not only threatening weapons, but also prehensile tools as Kronya bookended her first true appearance by launching two of them into the treetops and pulling herself up to disappear into the leafage.

Yet not before she offered the small armada of students a shrill laugh and the nightmarish vision of her blood red left eye, permanently etched with a black teardrop as though she had applied it with make up.

She appeared sparingly throughout the Blue Lions' march toward the central arena. Each time her presence was signaled by a bone-chilling giggle that echoed out of the tree line before one of those scorpion tendrils or her dagger-like sword Athame flew out of the darkness. There was no escape from these auxiliary attacks, which proved more effective at hitting their mark while the target was embroiled in battle against a mysterious soldier.

Kronya appeared to be in all places at once. She was able to lash out at Dedue on the leftmost approach before snagging Ashe on the arm with Athame at the other end of the forest almost immediately after.

When the panicked archer was attacked, they did not need to pull the dagger from his lithe shoulder. It disappeared in a puff of black smoke alongside the chastising laughter from the trees. That attack was what first gave Byleth the notion that one of the dark magic abilities of their opponent was, perhaps, some form of teleportation.

He carefully scanned the surrounding area as Annette, Flayn and Marianne felled a Demonic Beast with their combined magical prowess. With enough patience he started to notice the brief flashes of purple light in the darkness that signaled Kronya's appearance, and soon thereafter he found his Sword of the Creator to be a hard counter for the otherwise paradoxically diamond-hard yet slender tendrils she cast out.

Eventually she played into his hand by appearing more blatantly in the canopy branches above rather than off to the side, hoping to put an end to his retaliatory attacks.

Instead Byleth knocked her down with a quick slice of his extended, barbed-wire blade. She plummeted with a pained screech and a bright red lash across her pale form.

Though the landing was hard, Kronya quickly scrambled to her feet and began running from the relic-wielding instructor. He gave chase, leaving all of his students behind to face off against minor opponents so he could ensure the true prize — the woman who killed his father — would not get away.

Kronya clearly feared the Sword of the Creator, and kept looking over her shoulder to see how close Byleth was. With her three tendrils continually latching onto the surrounding bark and branches to rocket her forward and drop obstacles in Byleth's path, there was no chance he could catch up.

So luckily for him, her fear causes her to trip up — literally.

A gnarled root sends the assassin tumbling into the open arena at the center of the battlefield. She pulls to her feet again with an acrobatic grace to face down the Professor, who cautiously held his blade ready to strike at any moment.

Despite her overwhelming cache of magical abilities, Kronya shuttered in the face of her stoic opponent.

"But how?" She asks while shaking her head, letting her long teardrop earring jostle in the wind. "How could I possibly lose to a lowly creature like you?"

Byleth silently raises his blade, eyes narrowing as he corners his father's killer.

But before he can move in for the final blow, the Dark Bishop Solon appears behind his female accomplice.

The man Byleth once knew as Garreg Mach's librarian Tomas now had a dreadfully demented appearance where a once gentle, kindly face betrayed no ill will.

He had the same albino skin as his contemporaries, with wiry light-blue hair falling back into his dark red robe. Both of Solon's eyes were pitch black with yellow pupils, and his right eye appeared to be permanently grafted open by black staples that gave it the appearance of an inverse sun.

That large, dried out eye gazed with an unkempt energy not present in the rest of his calm demeanor, but did seem to pour out onto his forehead in the form of leading varicose veins.

Kronya's call for help was outright ignored by the decrepit mage, who demonstrated his superior strength by driving his hand straight through her chest.

"Have no fear Kronya," he says to the twitching, gasping girl as he held her up above the ground with one hand — much to Byleth's shock. "Your sacrifice will help to rid this world of the filthy vermin that have long infested it."

As Solon pulls his hand free and lets Kronya fall to the floor, his black glove with ritualistic blue patterns was covered in the same dark, slick blood that seemed to be sputtering out of her still-beating heart.

The arena is engulfed in dark purple flames that lash out and catch each of Byleth's limbs, leaving him powerless to do anything as Kronya looks up from the ground, both eyes exposed and wide with mortal fear, and begs for help.

The Dark Bishop shatters Kronya's heart, promising to unleash the "Forbidden Spell of Zahras" upon their enemies, and the woman's entire body bursts into a billowing cloud of purple energy.

That energy engulfs Byleth, and then disappears with a swirl that shifts around the dirt on the arena floor.

Once it's gone, it becomes apparent that so, too, is Byleth himself.

Solon grins.

"Be gone with you… Fell Star."

The rest of the Blue Lions emerge from the forest moments later and surround the dark mage. Many step up into the arena with their weapons raised or their magic primed, but Dimitri lingers behind.

As his lance tip drips blood near the cool stone floor, he casts his eyes to and fro.

"What was that sorcery?" The Prince asks, his voice somewhat hoarse. "What happened to our professor?!"

"They were swallowed by the mystical darkness of the forbidden spell." Solon places both hands at the top of his staff and looks toward the floor. "An eternity wandering in a void of darkness, never to return to this world… To think we almost had the Sword of the Creator…"

Murmurs of fear and disbelief mingle from all about the arena as more Blue Lions begin searching for any sign of the man just spirited away.

"That's a lie!" Annette cries, raising her glowing hands up by her face to cover some of her creeping dread. "There's no way the professor is really dead!"

"That's right!" Flayn steps up next, trying her best to put on a strong face despite how obviously she was shuddering in her loose dancer's attire. "Our professor is no ordinary human!"

"I do not believe our professor has fallen," Dedue adds with his eyes closed, as if communing with some natural spirit for confirmation.

Solon, intrigued by the outpouring, rubs his chin with his not bloodied glove.

"It is possible that death has yet to find your friend," he remarks with a slow, contemplative tone. "But there are worse things than death. Drifting through the darkness with no chance to escape… Overwhelmed with hopelessness… It must be torturous."

Though the exchange with the Dark Bishop escalates to the point of him threatening to eliminate each student, everyone's attention is drawn to the sky as it begins to glow a crimson red.

A fiery hot blade cuts into the open air from absolutely nowhere and slices its way down, opening up an iridescent rift in space.

Even Solon's pitch black eyes are illuminated by the ethereal glow of the sky rift as he gazes up at it, shock and fear replacing and bit of confidence across his features.

"So the Fell Star consumes even the darkness itself…" He mutters.

The Blue Lions are just as transfixed by the supernatural occurrence, but quickly rise to cheers as Byleth leaps into their plane of reality. He lands gingerly on his left hand and knees, the right clutching his Sword of the Creator — a sword now pulsating with red-hot light across each boney surface, much like the surface of the sun.

He stands stalwart, black outfit silhouetted by the rift he just emerged from. His once murky, swamp-green hair and eyes, which accented that serious expression, now shone neon, grassy green, flaring with energy.

The same grassy green as Sothis once exhibited.

"This should be impossible. The only being that can withstand that darkness is…" Solon scowls as he slams down his staff. "Unless I dispose of you myself, I may never have the chance to send you back there!"

With two pounds of his staff in quick succession, Solon disappears again.

The moment he does, more soldiers begin circling the bend of the top circle in the figure eight — which had a steep Cliffside as its null space to match the forest in the lower circle.

Before the approaching forces were noticed, a number of students began to surround Byleth and accost him with messages from all sides.

Some were curious as to where he'd been. Others wanted to make sure he wasn't hurt. But more still expressed deep relief at his return, the mere thought of him being dead a hard one to swallow.

As the Professor glances around to as many eyes as he could, he eventually settles on Flayn.

She was not in the circle immediately around him, but she offered a wide-eyed look of surprise at his new appearance. Mouthing 'how' and fluffing one of the drills of green hair around her head was all it took for Byleth to roll his eyes back a little and take stock of the similar shade of green they now shared.

"We'll talk about this later," he mouths silently amid the buzz of reactions.

By then the soldiers approaching from the northwest were close and ready to strike a distracted Flayn from behind. Byleth starts to push a near-sobbing Bernadetta aside with his free hand as the Sword of the Creator is raised to attack.

Yet he's beaten to her defense by Dedue, who slides in to block the leading opponent's axe strike with his heavy metal shield.

Flayn yelps and stumbles away from Dedue's guard, scurrying closer to the crowd around Byleth. As she does, Felix runs in and dispatches the attacker with a quick two jabs of his silvery gauntlets. Even though he wore his own hefty armor, the axe-wielding soldier is sent flying from the Crest of Fraldarius-bolstered punches.

"If you all are done," he says with a pant while in his follow-through stance. "We still have these curs to deal with."

The raven-haired boy straightens out his posture, and then Byleth looks around at his students with a few nods.

"He's right," the now-glowing haired Professor says. "Solon has taken to a dilapidated fort at the top of the hill. Our job is not done here."

"How do you know that, Professor?" Ashe paws at the bloodied gauze around his upper arm as he asks.

Byleth is silent as he stares up at the top of the nearby cliff for a moment.

"I just know. Trust me."

As he looks around at his students again, it's clear that they did trust him. He smiles, which almost immediately boosts the morale of each and every person.

"Ingrid, I need you to take me up there as fast as possible."

The blonde Pegasus Knight looks surprised at immediately being called out, but nods as she brushes the snowy white mane of her steed.

"You can count on us Professor!"

"Good." He approaches her with a brisk, determined stride while looking around and gesturing toward the other students. "You all hold the line here, take out soldiers as they approach. I have no idea if they'll scatter once I kill Solon, but you must be prepared for the worst."

Though that verbiage draws more nervous chatter among the Blue Lions, Dimitri steps up with his lance raised.

"Aye sir," he replies before taking stock of his classmates.

"Sylvain, Mercedes, Marianne." Each of them looks up at his beck and call. "Join me on the eastern front, if you would."

Dedue steps up and pounds the side of his axe against the armor on his chest, letting its clang resonate.

"You can count on me not to leave your side, Your Highness."

Dimitri smiles to his vassal before turning his attention out to the rest of the class again.

"Felix, you and Annette lead everyone else as front-and-back forces to the west."

As if to give assurance of their capabilities, Annette was already turned to the outer edge of the arena where she blows an approaching halberdier away with a harsh blast of air-slicing wind.

She looks back at him over her shoulder and flashes a grin.

"Understood! We won't let you down, Your Highness."

Felix acknowledges him with naught but a grunt, yet the sentiment comes across.

While they all take battle positions, Byleth jumps up on the back of Ingrid's saddle and she immediately takes off. They quickly lose all track of the activity below as they escape gravity, wind roaring in their ears.

The Pegasus soon offers Ingrid and Byleth a bird's eye view of the entire battlefield, where the soldiers may as well be ants. He points out the collapsed fortification at the top of the hill and directs Ingrid to descent upon it, but ensures they approach slowly and with arcing loops to avoid any incoming projectiles from the magically inclined villains below.

"I'm glad you're okay Professor," Ingrid manages over the wind to the man behind her.

He responds with a smile and a reassuring squeeze around her waist.

She smiles back.

"I also quite like the new hair color, wherever it came from."

Their idle chatter does not last long, as a screeching Banshee spell narrowly misses the Pegasus' wing and they take evasive maneuvers, dive-bombing the fortification before Solon could charge another attack.

Ingrid swoops by the spot and drops Byleth off before going back down the steep cliff to join her classmates.

Byleth turns to his foe, determination burning in his eyes nearly as bright as the glow of his sword as it's raised high.

"Your snare was a cute trick," he says.

With a sharp swipe of his sword it disconnects into that extended whip form, the blazing pieces surrounding his body in a wide ring like the electrons around an atom.

Solon closes his eyes (though the right one remains open all the same).

"I am terrified by you… Even though an emotion like fear has no place inside me." The Dark Bishop raises his staff high with both hands. "That means you must be eliminated."

Soon the staff is awash with cloudy purple energy as he clutches it tight. Byleth retracts his sword in turn, and then rears it back like a bat.

With a harsh and gravelly call, Solon slams his staff down again and looses a fast-moving bomb of poisonous energy toward the Blue Lions' Professor. Byleth cuts the Sword of the Creator in front of his body with a long, horizontal swipe; the weapon once again splitting into a barbed whip in the process.

The Heroes' Relic passes through Solon's Miasma spell like a hot knife through butter and utterly obliterates it. But the Godly power pushes even further, slicing Solon's staff in twine and sending him flying from a sharp thwack to the stomach.

The Dark Bishop cries out in pain as he lands hard on his back, clawing at his practically eviscerated stomach through the shredded robe.

Byleth's face is as stoic as ever when he steps up onto the ruins of the fort where Solon once stood and casts his gaze down onto the fallen foe.

Solon gasps for breath as he glares back up.

"To think… That I would lose to mere beasts." He starts to fall limp, voice shallower with each passing moment. "But this is not the end… Thales will carry out our mission, somehow…"

With those final words, the self-titled "Savior of all" dies like a dog, bleeding out in the dirt.

Byleth simply looks on from above, embracing his newfound divinity.


	23. Remnants of the Goddess

_**Full disclosure: This is going to be a short transitional chapter. A combination of the New Year's festivities (happy 2020 by the way!), chores and beginning a more labor-intensive freelance gig (you can check out what I'm working on at the video game news site GameRant, if you're so inclined!) kept me busier than I anticipated over the last week. So… I'm quickly writing this the night it's going out.**_

_**I'll try to manage my time better and get a meatier continuation next week, since all of you fans of Three Houses know what's coming.**_

_**But that said; keep in mind that my real life responsibilities are picking up in case I have to change my weekly publishing ambitions going forward. As much as I love you guys, this ain't paying the bills and freelancing means it's all on me to pick my hours.**_

_**Okay, enough real life talk. Let's get on with it.**_

* * *

**Part 1 — Pegasus Moon**

_When Solon's Forbidden Spell of Zahras pulled Byleth into the dark abyss, he came across Sothis on her immense throne. Faced with the possibility of being trapped in the void alongside him, the mysterious girl finally remembered her place as the Fódlan's progenitor god. However she lacked her own corporeal form to exert that power. Thus she decided to fuse her spirit with Byleth there and then, giving up her ability to independently interact with the world and leaving its fate in his hands in order to facilitate their escape._

_Her final words were a prophetic warning: Sothis was the beginning of time, and it was up to Byleth to decide how to utilize the immense power she passed on._

_Upon Solon's defeat, Byleth's return to Garreg Mach was met with much discussion. Many wondered whether his changed appearance was a sign of some deeper alteration; though he assured everyone he was still the same inside. However, there was some truth to the Blue Lions' instructor acting more forlorn and distant — much like when he had first arrived at the Monastery. He seemed to frequently check over his shoulder, as if expecting to see someone._

_Archbishop Rhea was more protective of Byleth than anyone during this period, acting as if he had become a close family member overnight. She offered to take him and his students down into the Holy Tomb where Sothis was once buried to receive a divine revelation through a Church ceremony._

* * *

Toward the end of the month, Rhea led the Blue Lions' class to a large chamber deep within the Monastery's grand Cathedral. It was barren, as though someone had forgotten to purchase décor. There were not even torches or chandeliers of any kind, leaving everything to be illuminated by a single abstract glass mural on the far wall.

As the Archbishop led Byleth to stand under the mural's warped light, his students either gathered around the center of the room for awkward small talk or investigated one of the four indented grooves running up the left and right walls.

"How strange that this should be the one thing they chose to put around the room," Ashe remarks as he looks into the groove near the back-left corner alongside Annette and Ingrid.

"It reminds me of the mechanical fortifications at Arianrhod that my father showed me once," Annette says as she runs a hand inside the indent. "Full of divots, like a gear track."

At the other side of the room, Felix turns away from the metal-lined groove he was looking over with Sylvain.

"What's the deal with this place, Archbishop?"

People all around the room look surprised at Felix's irreverent tone. Not that it was unusual, but it was unexpected in the face of Rhea herself.

However, the green-haired authority figure brushes it off with a gentle laugh as she and Byleth look around at dozens of eyes with their backs to the far wall.

"Do not worry young ones," she says with a cool ambiance that washes over the room. "You will see as soon as Seteth finishes the preparations."

"My brother has always been slow when it comes to working these mechanisms," Flayn says. Her internal turmoil deciding whether she should hide amongst the crowd of students or join the leaders at the front is readily apparent.

Dedue notices her fidgeting and keeps her under a curious gaze.

"Mechanisms?"

As if right on cue, the floor violently jolts and a whirring arises from underneath.

Bernadetta is the only one to fall over from the sudden motion (though many others come close), and needs to have her fearful whines and sobs consoled by Mercedes.

Once that first jolt passes, the floor begins to rumble at a slow, even rate. Everyone feels a slight falling sensation in their core as the ground begins descending down an unseen chasm and the ceiling moves further out of reach.

"W-What's happening?" Bernadetta manages to coherently utter, though her voice is still shaky from her recent crying.

"It looks like we're going down," Ashe responds. He looks awestruck toward the entrance as it rises further and further away.

"See?" Annette says with a little more excitement as she tugs at Ashe's sleeve and points out the track that continues unraveling as more of the walls are revealed. "We must be riding down on gears!"

The light from the abstract mural passes across the floor and sticks against a section of the chamber they leave behind. But the area is only dark for a short while before another orb of light crests up from the wall behind Rhea and Byleth like a rising sun. When it fully comes into view, it becomes clear they were looking at another mural — this one depicting a blocky visage of Sothis and all of her cascading green hair in the center of an empty frame.

"It appears we're along one of the cliffsides too," Dimitri says while stroking his chin. He receives an eagerly agreeing nod from Dedue at his side. "Where else could there be such a long underground shaft that has this much access to light outside?"

The Archbishop rests a hand on Byleth's shoulder so he would join her in turning around to watch the second mural rising.

"The goddess who created this world was laid to rest, along with her children, in the Holy Tomb beneath us," she says with the gently amazed tone of a teacher who loved to impart her knowledge. "Their history is briefly inscribed through these murals, dear one."

Though their moment was clearly meant to be somewhat private given Rhea's hushed tone, it still drew the curiosity of a few individual parties around the room.

"Dear one?" Marianne questions to the pale-skinned Linhardt beside her. "How strange, I always got an impression the Professor somewhat disliked the Archbishop."

Linhardt's usually low-key, sleepy expression was gone, replaced by a childlike excitement as he fervently observed the moving chamber's history lesson. After the Sothis mural began casting its light against the stationary wall, another round window appeared over the horizon that depicted her alongside a blue-and-green marble.

Yet he was still plenty available to answer his blue-haired companion, despite looking like he had missed everything she said.

"Perhaps he doesn't, but the Archbishop has her own vested interest in things," Linhardt responds with a casual shrug. "She clearly likes intriguing crests — understandably so. Between that Crest of Flames he bears and the whole hair color change, she's probably latched onto him quite a bit."

Marianne looks between her feet and nods.

"I suppose you're right," she mumbles. "It was silly of me not to consider that…"

"Nonsense, you're quite alright Marianne."

He passes along the last bit without looking at her, but turns soon after while rolling his eyes back and pawing at a few strands of his sage green hair.

"Say… You don't think the whole 'green hair' look is becoming too excessive around the Monastery now, do you?"

The ground stops moving with another violent jolt after a fourth mural comes up that depicts Sothis with four other indiscriminate figures — obviously meant to be the Saints. A circle of light cast by that final mural stops in the same place where the first had been, immediately over where Byleth and Rhea stood. As soon as everyone recovered from the motion, the Archbishop gestures toward a new chamber entryway that had appeared on the same part of the wall where they had come in.

"Please watch your step as you exit."

Rhea waves the students off before glancing at Byleth once more.

"Are you surprised, Professor? This is the Holy Tomb."

"Incredible," Dimitri says with a slightly jovial scoff of disbelief. "To think such a vast space has been hidden beneath us all this time. I wonder what powers this giant mechanism that descends beneath the ground…"

Footsteps echo as the group makes their way into Sothis' final resting place.


	24. The Flame Emperor

As Byleth sits atop the immense Throne of Knowledge, his thoughts linger only on how cold it was.

Ever since Sothis had fused their beings together, he was unable to see or hear her. She warned him this would happen of course, but actually experiencing the loss of her presence was harder to come to grips with than he had expected.

Something in his gut told Byleth that just sitting where he had seen her sit in so many of his dreams would bring about a revelation, as Rhea eagerly expected where she stood with the Blue Lions at the base of the carved stone seat's pedestal.

But nothing came.

Byleth tries to emulate the posture he had seen Sothis take; crossing his right leg over his left and leaning his head against the swirling pattern carved into the back of the throne. His short, scruffy hair didn't do nearly as much to coat the space as Sothis' sprawling locks, but at least the new color he had taken on better matched the ethereal light shining over the entire Holy Tomb.

The Archbishop calls to him. "Well?"

As Byleth looks back down on the crowd, he could see the older woman's light green eyes shimmer expectedly and with a childlike enthusiasm. He shudders and takes a deep breath. It felt awful, knowing he was about to dash those hopes.

Rhea turns her head to the floor and closes her eyes as Byleth confirms the worst with a brief headshake. Her hands clasp together in prayer.

"It was supposed to be but a step away…" She says with a sharp pang of reluctance. "What could possibly be missing?"

The young Flayn, still done up in her loosely flowing dancer's attire, gently rests a hand on Rhea's left arm and brushes the fabric of her robe soothingly. The Archbishop looks toward her and smiles, comforted by the gesture.

However, Dimitri — standing just to the Archbishop's right — seems tenser than ever. Each passing second his head ticked more and more to the left, as if perceiving something in his peripherals.

Then he completely whirls around, suspicions confirmed by the sight of soldiers in red-and-black armor marching into the chamber.

"Halt! Reveal yourself!"

Every other student turns once Dimitri calls out, many reaching for their weapons as others simply exchange shocked chatter.

Mysterious soldiers line up rank and file, and from the army's core come two figures: The Flame Emperor, dawning dark and heavy armor pieces contrasting with a pale-white geisha mask; and a commander of the Adrestian Empire that a few of the Blue Lions recognize as Metodey.

"Why is the Imperial army here?" Dedue asks.

"This can't be," Ingrid mutters in turn, slowly shaking her head as she tries to think things over. "How did they get into Garreg Mach?"

By that point Byleth had begun bounding down the large staircase that led up to the Throne of Knowledge. His heavy footsteps echoed even louder than the many individuals marching in from the descending room at the other side of the tomb.

"Even the Flame Emperor is here." Sylvain says as he runs a hand through his orange hair, revelation flashing in his stern gaze. "That can only mean…"

"The Flame Emperor is connected to the Empire." Felix interjects, finishing the thought as he draws a silver sword from the hilt of his uniform. "What do you know."

When Byleth finally reaches the level of his students, he gently pushes a fuming Archbishop aside to stand beside Dimitri at the railing that overlooked the general area of the Holy Tomb. There were two balconies at either end, with rows of stone caskets lining the depressed space in between.

The Prince of Faerghus and the Flame Emperor were talking to one another over the gap, though Dimitri sounded far angrier and more exasperated than the calm, warped voice of their impending opponent.

"I never imagined you'd have the nerve to return here," Dimitri snarls. "What are you after, Flame Emperor?"

"Is it not obvious?" The shady, armored figure throws both arms out to gesture across the space, but the loose draping of their black cloak covered their arms. "The Holy Tomb contains great power. The power to rule all of Fódlan."

"And to attain that power, you'll trample anything that stands in your way. Just like you did in Duscur!"

The Flame Emperor stares blankly back for a moment. Meanwhile, Metodey turns toward their troops. He ushers in a few men.

"I had nothing to do with that," says the Flame Emperor in a tone that sounds somewhat reluctant — though it was hard to tell through the metallic voice.

"Quickly, retrieve the Crest Stones!" They continue. "Kill for them if you must."

Many soldiers begin to descend down into the Holy Tomb proper from staircases that extend down the left and right walls around the entrance balcony. However, most of the Blue Lions are focused on the two whom Metodey brought in, as they dragged an unconscious boy and girl in Officers Academy uniforms along.

Marianne gasps and Annette quickly hides her head in Mercedes' smock as the soldiers throw their captives over the balcony, letting them plummet.

Their broken bodies are soon immersed in thick black clouds, however, which expand and contort before condensing into the immense forms of Experimental Demonic Beasts — the same that had been seen back in the ruined chapel.

Waves of anger and disgust wash over the Blue Lions, none more than Dimitri.

He practically snaps the jade-green stone railing with his bare hands. However, before he can give any sort of command, he's surprised to be usurped by Archbishop Rhea. Her usually motherly, soft tone is lost to a scolding yell.

"Insolence!" She cries out. "You will atone for the sin of trampling on this holy resting place!"

Multiple students stare at her, not used to such an aggressive presence and, frankly, unsure how to proceed. But they all rally into battle-readiness as she continues:

"Professor. Destroy these villainous traitors who dare dishonor our creator!"

Byleth simply nods in reply, face as stoic as ever when he unsheathes his Sword of the Creator and lets it extend out into its barbed whip form aglow with a sun's heat.

* * *

The Blue Lions follow their Professor into the Holy Tomb's main chamber, where they split up to meet the myriad of soldiers flanking the caskets along the left and right walls as well as the beasts careening down the open central corridor.

Mercedes, Linhardt, Ashe and Bernadetta are the only students who stay behind with Rhea: Two healers to cast Physic spells from afar and two archers to pepper their foes with a barrage of arrows.

Ingrid, being one of the most lithe members of the makeshift army, is the first to reach a foe as they try to race for the leftmost casket closest to the throne.

She stops his charge with a slick maneuver, sliding to a stop so she can thrust her lance toward the soldier's abdomen. It lodges into him non-lethally, leaving the soldier crying in pain and stuck to her whim. From there he still tries to swipe at Ingrid's head with his sword, but she keeps him at a distance and dodges her upper body back.

Before any of the soldier's allies can come rescue him, Sylvain is able to catch up to Ingrid's scuffle. He rushes past her and leaps into the air, throwing his own lance out like a bat as he descends.

Sylvain's heavy metal weapon practically knocks the soldier's head off with a wicked crack, and then he drops dead before the pair of students.

"Still useful without that winged steed of yours I see?" The redhead comments with a jovial grin.

He's met with a glare.

"Is now really the time to be throwing out jokes?" Ingrid asks with a huff before holding out her lance like a defensive pikesman.

Sylvain shrugs and jumps back to join her in the same pose. Together they're able to block the hallway between the caskets and the wall.

"Probably not. But everyone's going to deal with these traumatic revelations their own way, right?"

The blonde girl rolls her eyes.

"Better than trying to hit on my grandmother, I suppose."

Without losing her pose, Ingrid begins to scoot forward with one leg before bringing the other up to meet it. Sylvain briefly drops the tip of his lance to the floor as his shoulders slump, but he soon pulls himself back together to follow her.

"You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

* * *

On the other end of the Holy Tomb, Felix and Caspar mow through a number of soldiers trying to loot Crest Stones from the burial chamber. The pale green walls are covered with splattered lines of blood from each killing blow Felix manages to cut across the exposed necks of Adrestian soldiers, as well as webbed cracks from each punch that Caspar missed with his heavy iron gauntlets.

As he approaches an open casket near the center of the room, Caspar grabs one man who is rummaging around inside of it by the shoulders, pulls him back up and whirls around to toss the stringy footsoldier into the wall. The unsuspecting man hits his head hard and crumbles back down to the floor, leaving a slight indent on the wall in his wake.

The Crest Stone he had managed to fish out of the casket rolls away.

"My father would be embarrassed if he knew you all were getting so thoroughly beaten by a bunch of students," the blue-haired boy taunts over his recent victim's body.

While he does so, a burly woman with a heavy battleax runs up from behind, ready to strike. Before she has the chance, she's struck by one of Bernadetta's arrows and knocked off course with a harsh grunt. She careens into the top of one of the other caskets, helmet pierced by the sharp projectile.

Caspar turns toward the thud behind him, but is distracted again as Marianne comes over to pick up the discarded Crest Stone.

"Be careful!" She says, voice somewhat higher than usual as she works over hyperventilating from the combat around her.

"Right," Caspar responds starkly, as he's still catching up on what fate almost befell him. "Sorry, I was just… Uh…"

"Chastising our foes?"

If he was having trouble catching up before, now Caspar looked even more lost as he watches Marianne take such a serious — and confident — tone. She stands tall while holding the recovered Crest Stone to her bosom, and he has no idea how to respond.

"… Yeah?"

"That's rude, don't you think?" Marianne lets her eyes drop to the bodies around them and sighs. "Even if they're our enemies, the dead deserve respect. I know I would want that if I were in their place."

Her gaze lingers for a long pause before Caspar pulls her back into reality by clearing his throat.

"Are you okay, Marianne?" He asks with one gauntlet at his hip.

The soft-spoken cleric retracts into herself more as she nods.

"Y-Yes," she mutters. "We should get back to the battle."

Caspar grins as the offer to go back to doing what he does best, and gently rests the bottom of his gauntlet's fist on her shoulder as if it were a regular pat.

"Right! Get my back, would you?"

Before she can answer, he's already turned around and rushing back into the thick of things.

"Of course…"

Marianne sighs and then jogs after him.

* * *

While they continue to move toward the balcony where the Flame Emperor waits, the Experimental Demonic Beasts reach the slightly elevated platform in the center of the room. Its layout was much like a courtyard, but instead of having a fountain as the centerpiece the Holy Tomb elevated a larger, more ornate stone casket: The very same casket where the Goddess herself was laid to rest.

The Demonic Beast who was once a male student threatened to crush the casket under its bile-soaked bandage foot, but was stopped by the overwhelming heavenly light of a Seraphim spell being cast by Flayn.

It rears back on its hind legs, crying out in a shrill screech that occasionally dips into a low gurgle while fighting against the intense blast of magical energy being conjured. The power was so intense that Flayn, too, struggled to keep Seraphim active as the blowback of its energy blew her drill-shaped ponytails back behind her head.

Byleth supplied encouragement where he could; assuring Flayn that he would come to finish the job as soon as a moment presented itself. As it stood, he was busy slicing flaming balls of goop out of the sky with his active Hero's Relic.

The formerly female beast was lobbing them from a position slunk away from its once-male partner, hoping to blot out the source of the intense light.

Their onslaught was relentless, as the beasts proved much harder to scale when they weren't constrained by a maze of ruins.

However, that wouldn't stop the Blue Lions from trying.

Eventually Byleth is distracted from his target practice when he hears the clomp of metallic footsteps approaching the once-female beast. Looking toward it, he finds Dedue taking a solid position before getting down on one knee.

"Dedue?" He asks, seemingly just as the flame-spewing Demonic Beast notices its new prey. "What are you doing?"

"Do not worry Professor," the large man responds in a calm and collected tone that rivaled Byleth's own. "His Highness and I can handle this one."

Byleth looks confused at first, but soon finds Dimitri racing toward his vassal at full speed.

He looks back-and-forth between the two students, who seem completely undaunted by the inhumane monstrosity slinking toward them. Dedue raises his large silver shield up above his head and ducks.

The Prince leaps into the air and lands on Dedue's upturned shield, using it as a stepping-stone to leap forward again. Dedue thrusts the shield out at the same time, which sends Dimitri sailing through the air.

Even when he reaches an awe-inspiring height, Dimitri's face does not betray a hint of fear. His focus is dead-set on the beast continuing to make its way toward Dedue.

Dimitri falls, lance at the ready, and impales his monstrous foe straight through the dull stone in its forehead.

Much like the Demonic Beast he had taken out similarly at the Chapel, this new target drops to the floor and dies with little resistance.

"Destroy the stone!" He breathlessly calls to Byleth while riding the felled beast down to the floor.

The Professor looks back at the creature under Flayn's care and nods.

"Flayn," he says simply while turning completely toward the foe and approaching it. The girl picks up on his command and stops her spell, having to cradle her hands as they burn in the aftermath of the attack.

When the Demonic Beast lands on its forelegs again, it's face-to-face with Byleth's blank expression.

He flicks his sword out to the right, letting it extend into the barbed whip. Then, with just a few grunts, he slices the monster's face five times. All the lacerations left behind create a bloody star shape.

"Sublime Heaven," Byleth then mutters as he pulls his sword back to normal and rears it over his shoulder before thrusting straight into the center of the star.

The power of the Fell Star he inherited with Sothis' sacrifice channels out from a scarlet orb in the Sword of the Creator's core. It blasts the Demonic Beast with what appeared to be the viscous, roping energy of a sun; shattering its Crest Stone in an instant.

That second monstrosity drops dead, leaving Byleth panting in the afterglow of his attack as it dissipates off his body like steam.

Flayn, Dedue and Dimitri approach him as soon as the power mostly fades.

"Incredible," Dimitri says with widened eyes. "To think this is the power of the Hero's Relics at their most potent…"

"I'm not sure just any Relic can exude that much power, Dimitri." Flayn crosses her arms, as if the sight of Byleth made her cold. "Perhaps the Goddess truly has blessed our Professor."

In lieu of a response, Byleth flicks his sword toward the ground so it casts off a few remaining sparks of power. Then he begins walking, aiming for the staircase against the left wall.

"We can discuss this when the Flame Emperor is taken care of," he says.

The three students look at one another before following along.

* * *

Up near the entrance into the Holy Tomb, the Flame Emperor watches as more and more of their men fall before the unstoppable wall of Felix, Caspar and Marianne racing up the right wall's staircase. Even as Metodey falls, no hint of any emotion passes through the eerie mask.

In fact, no emotion seems to come across any part of the Flame Emperor's posture. Their red-feathered shoulder plates and the matching plume that ran from the helmet down to their legs were still, as was their flowing cloak in the absence of wind deep below the ground. The only part of the Flame Emperor moving even slightly was their axe — broad, sharp and speckled with dried blood. A sharp spike capping off the pole grinded lightly against the ancient floor as the Flame Emperor idly drew in the dust.

Despite being seemingly checked out, it took the imposing figure mere seconds to twirl around and raise its axe to block an incoming attack.

They catch Dimitri's lance easily, and in the brief moment that follows the Flame Emperor gathers that Byleth and Flayn had joined Ingrid and Sylvain, whom all distracted a small armada to give the Prince this chance to strike.

"Do not try to say you have forgotten…" Dimitri snarls, unhinged and sleepless eyes masked behind his matted-down gold hair. "Do you know just how many people died in Duscur?"

The Flame Emperor is silent, barely even struggling to hold back the shaking weapon of their opponent.

"Why bother with this?" They finally utter. "Stay silent and fight."

"So you want to turn your eyes away from the lives you have trampled?" He turns his head and spits. "Dastard! You are a monster. The lowliest beast I have ever known."

Their weapons slide off each other with a sharp whine as Dimitri jumps back so he can make another quick dash toward the Flame Emperor to try and catch them off balance.

For a while they parry one another, the Flame Emperor mostly using their axe defensively as Dimitri strikes again and again with bottomless energy.

His swings grow harder and faster the longer they fight, eventually driving the masked figure to back away from the sheer force of the impactful attacks. The Prince chides his foe repeatedly, demanding the Flame Emperor take their battle seriously and fight back. But the Flame Emperor is silent, staring with a beady red glare.

Eventually it becomes too much for the boy, who suddenly shifts focus to that mask with an aggravated call.

It was just sudden enough to catch the Flame Emperor off guard.

With a heavy impact the mask flies into the air, landing face up at Dimitri's feet while the Flame Emperor stumbles back toward a small crowd of soldiers.

The sounds of metal clashing and bloodshed around the room all fade into limbo for the head of the Blue Lions as he pulls back his aggressive stance and simply stares down at that mask for a long while. His eyes dart over every inch, taking in each minute detail. But perhaps it was more than that. His eyes shook with the fear his body was unable to express: A fear of finally confronting the person behind the mask.

The same person responsible for the Tragedy of Duscur and the death of his father.

Dimitri takes a deep, hollow breath before bringing his head up and letting those soft blue eyes focus on the unmasked figure.

Silence. And then… A single laugh.

That single laugh then builds into chuckling, and then further into crazed laughter as a dumbfounded grin of disbelief stretches across the boy's lips.

"Is this some kind of twisted joke?!" He yells, voice high pitched and deeply disturbed.

Staring back at him were the familiarly pale, purple eyes of Edelgard.


	25. Civil Hands

_**I know some of you are probably very eager to see Dimitri lose his mind, but I wanted to take a moment to congratulate Byleth on making it into Smash Ultimate. It's a safe choice for the last member of the first Fighters Pass DLC, but I think they definitely handled the Professor well by utilizing multiple Heroes' Relics!**_

_**Might have to steal that idea… Or even something from the Cindered Shadows DLC in Three Houses. "Which I wrote about over at Game Rant if you want to support my day job," he says in his most obnoxious self-promotion voice.**_

_**Anyway though let's just say that with Byleth in Smash happening, Three Houses is going to be a part of my life even longer than I expected. So that means my interest in getting through this here fanfic should keep chugging along too!**_

_**Thanks again for taking the time to read through it, I love you all.**_

* * *

Dimitri's unrelenting laughter haunts the Holy Tomb for a good while, drawing in all the Blue Lions to their cornered foe like a beacon. Most everyone is speechless at the sight of Edelgard in the Flame Emperor's armor, exposed without her mask.

Only Byleth appears to be more concerned for Dimitri than Edelgard, as he slowly approaches the boy with the Sword of the Creator by his belt, ready to draw or put away.

But Dimitri goes silent in an instant and Byleth stops. That twisted, comedic denial of the situation falters, leaving his body somewhat limp in a state of pure dread. The tip of his lance clinks against the floor as his shoulders slump and his face falls flat into what can only be read through his dulling blue eyes as anguish.

Then, starting with a twitch of the left eye, that anguish gives way to anger.

Soon Dimitri is snarling, threatening to crack all of his teeth from how hard he was grinding them just as much as he was threatening to snap his weapon in half from how hard he held the shaft in his quaking arm.

During the brief respite, Edelgard raises her axe defensively and huffs. Without Dimitri's laughter her soft panting was the noise primarily filling the chamber, showing the gathering crowd that her mask was what distorted her voice earlier.

When Edelgard's personal defenses are raised, the six Adrestian guards surrounding her also begin advancing, surrounding their commanding officer.

Seeing them spring into action, Dimitri flicks his lance out to the side before holding it in a tense, aggressive stance. He advances as well, finding no qualms in shattering the Flame Emperor's mask under his right metal boot in an instant. It was as though there was nothing in his path at all.

Now, where once a beautifully crafted white mask with a flame pattern laid, only rested red and white embers against the musty green floor.

Byleth tries to take Dimitri by the shoulder before he got too far, but the Prince is immediately dismissive. He brushes the Professor's hand away without a second look and continues to walk toward Edelgard.

"I've been looking for you…" He mutters, words drawn out and dripping with venom. "I will take that head from your shoulders and hang it from the gates of Enbarr!"

His wild, sharp grin and sullen, beady eyes return as Dimitri starts running at her.

Everyone in the room could hear him chuckling just under his breath as the six guards run to intercept the attacker.

The four men who had led the defense stand in a line and begin to raise their lances, hoping they would overwhelm the solitary noble with numbers alone. Yet Dimitri moved with a wobbling, unstructured gait that made it hard to predict exactly how he was going to approach. It was as if each muscle in his body was loosed, overflowing with power that pulled every inch of his being in different directions at once.

He displays the overwhelming strength let loose by his furious rage through a single swipe of his lance that caught each of the four men, crashing them into one another and sending them all tumbling out of his path.

The Blue Lions looked just as shocked as Edelgard when Dimitri follows through with that elephant trunk's swipe by drawing the lance all the way back over his shoulder, flipping it so the tip would angle forward and tossing it like a javelin.

Time moves slower as Edelgard suddenly comprehends the attack when it flies over her shoulder, leaving a long scratch against the metal plating of her armor. Had his throw been just a few inches more to the left, she would have died before even realizing what he was doing. The lance cracks in half as it careens into the wall behind her.

Yet, now the Kingdom's heir had tossed away his only weapon. That emboldened the guard to Edelgard's right, who tries to run the blond boy through with his own lance.

Dimitri deftly dodges the attack and decks him in the face, immediately breaking his nose with the metal knuckle of his armor and sending a few sprinkles of blood flying out against his face.

The guard with the broken nose falls hard on his back, groaning in agony as blood gushes down to the chainmail around his chin. But Dimitri had flipped back into unbridled rage, and he was clearly not in a merciful mood. The Prince drops to his knees and grabs the top of the guard's helmet to lift up his head.

Then, with his free hand, Dimitri bludgeons the man's face repeatedly, letting it slam back into the floor with each punch before picking it up again.

His classmates watch in horror as Dimitri's face and armor splatters with more and more blood each time he punches the downed man.

"Stop right there!" The final Adrestian guard calls out as he races toward Dimitri, hoping he could get in a killing blow while his ally was being brutalized.

Unfortunately, he was too far away to be able to capitalize. Dimitri slowly rises to his feet; body crooked and dripping with blood from the pulpy, mangled mess below him. By the time the last guard arrives, Dimitri is able to dodge the attack and grab the exposed part of his face — immediately immobilizing him in the process.

The last guard tries to plead for his life, words nasally because Dimitri's palm was scrunching down his nose.

But again, Dimitri offers no mercy.

He simultaneously crushes the man's skull and twists his neck, killing the man in an instant. Then he looks up at an army-less Edelgard and snickers; teeth looking especially white contrasted against the scarlet droplets running down his face.

By now the entire class had gathered around Byleth, who made sure they did not approach Dimitri in this state. Their reactions varied: Annette and Linhardt each looked sick and supported themselves with Mercedes and Caspar, both of whom averted their eyes almost immediately; Sylvain was transfixed on the sight of his friend tearing through the men, as was Ingrid (though she looked more terrified than stunned); Marianne clung somehow closer to a stone-faced Byleth than Flayn and practically sobbed into his sleeve, begging for it to stop under her breath; Felix stood with his arms crossed and his eyes closed, silently saying he had warned them all — yet his body was turned away from the bloodshed as though he too took no pleasure seeing himself proved correct.

Archbishop Rhea looked pleased to see her will be done in such a swift manner, with no casualties to speak of.

Near the doorway out of the Holy Tomb, Edelgard swallows back a hard lump in her throat and steels her spirit as Dimitri slowly approaches once again. She drops her axe to her side, seeing him pull back into a more neutral state of being.

"Before I break your neck, there is one thing I must ask you," he says deadpan.

"Stay out of my way," she interjects, voice confident despite the slight shutter running up her spine.

"I don't recall giving you permission to speak," he continues anyway. This time the deep gravel to his furious tone bubbles up again. Answer my question. That is all you have left to do."

A brief pause settles amongst the dead.

"Flame Emperor… No. Edelgard. Tell me now, why did you cause such a tragedy?" His voice slowly escalates the more he talks. "You killed your own mother, and yet you haven't even had the decency to stop and consider the reasons behind your actions. Have you?!"

"I already told you," she responds calmly. "I had nothing to do with that."

Dimitri laughs. "It was foolish to think I could reason with a lowly beast. You are a monster…"

Before Edelgard has the chance to talk again, a flash of purple light surrounds her. Suddenly two more guards are standing between her and Dimitri, swords raised. Hubert is at her side, sneering at Dimitri.

The Prince has no issues dealing with the guards without a weapon. However, Edelgard and Hubert disappear in another flash of purple light before he finishes the job, leaving him panting over their slain figures and staring down an empty doorway.

"To flee is futile, wicked girl." Rhea calls out to the same nothingness, drawing Byleth's eyes even as his class continues to watch Dimitri twitch in anger. "The Church of Seiros will raise its entire army against you until you have been captured and punished! You have defiled the Holy Tomb, dishonored the goddess and humiliated your brethren. That crime will never be erased, even if you burn in the eternal flames and spill all of your blood into the goddess's soil."

Once finished with her monologue, the Archbishop saunters in front of the Blue Lions and turns to face them, arms spread like a prophet.

"Come, Professor. Let us return and decide upon our next course of action."

Before they have the chance to lead everyone out, Dimitri storms back into the fold. He bypasses Rhea as if she weren't there at all, and dozens of shocked or suspicious eyes watch as he approaches a quivering, yet ultimately frozen Bernadetta.

"Von Hevring. Von Bergliez. Von Varley."

Linhardt, Caspar and Bernadetta all flinch in turn when called out in that disturbed, spine-chilling tone.

"You three bear the blood of Adrestian houses." Dimitri takes a deep breath through his nose and raises his hands, threatening to clasp at Bernadetta's neck.

She squeals and backs away, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Tell me. What did you know about this?!"

"Nothing!" Caspar calls out as he tries pushing past Ingrid and Felix to get to Bernadetta's side. Most everyone else is still with a tense fear.

"Are you all conspiring against us?!" Dimitri yells.

"No!" Bernadetta cries, arms squeezing hard around her messy purple hair.

"Did you 'join' us under the pretense of being Edelgard's spies? What have you told that wench about us?!"

"W-We… Hng…" Bernadetta backs into the balcony railing and loses her ability to speak after looking over her shoulder at the long drop down.

Before Dimitri can reach her, Sylvain runs over and stands between them. His gaze is chivalrous, undeterred by his friend's swinging moods and daunting strength.

"You're acting like a madman, Dimitri." His voice quibbles, but just barely. "As if Bernadetta, of all the people here, would be capable of 'conspiring' against anyone."

He briefly glances back at her.

"No offense."

She quickly shakes her head and cowers behind Sylvain's much larger form.

"That is exactly why we would never expect her," Dimitri continues. His approach is unceasing, though by now Dedue and Byleth were also coming from behind to surround the Prince. "She's a perfect spy. A truly despicable rat."

Sylvain steps forward and latches his hands to Dimitri's chest, shoving him away.

Dimitri catches his balance again almost immediately and lunges forward to punch Sylvain in the jaw. A few gasps emerge from the watching crowd.

The redhead yelps in pain as he stumbles to the side and doubles over, hand cradling his face. Dimitri stands back, panting, and watches as Sylvain spits out a viscous glob of dark blood onto the cool, jade ground.

"Your Highness!" Dedue says forcefully as he and Byleth come to either side, threatening to grab Dimitri by the arms if necessary.

The Prince is momentarily dumbfounded as he looks around. First at Dedue, then Byleth, each stern yet worried. Then he looks at Bernadetta, cowering against the railing. Finally his gaze falls back on Sylvain, who has an 'I'm not angry, I'm disappointed' kind of look and moves his hand to reveal an enflamed, throbbing welt forming on his cheek.

Thoughts swirl around in his head as the thick tension in the room begins to simmer down. He backs away from Bernadetta and the reach of Dedue and Byleth before turning to face the judgment of his peers.

All the Blue Lions blend into one: A mess of sad eyes and a haze of mutterings.

As Dimitri's eyes dart around that amorphous blob of his friends, they eventually settle on a familiar head of blue hair. Marianne was hard to spot, as she took to cowering behind a sneering Felix and forlorn Mercedes. But once he spotted her he could see the odd blend of fear and pain in her eyes, even as they too hid behind her unkempt bangs. The cleric practically tore the top of her dress apart from how much she nervously pulled and kneaded at the fabric with her arms pulled tight to her chest.

Dimitri swallows back as he turns his attention to the floor. All of the overwhelming rage had dissipated, and in its place was shame.

"… I'm sorry," he mutters. "I don't know what came over me."

Dedue's immense shadow blots out the shrunken form of his liege, and the Duscur man wraps an arm around Dimitri's shoulders before starting to walk him back toward the door to the descending mechanism.

"It's okay, Your Highness. This day has been hard on us all."

Very weak and unsure agreements ring out from a few voices in the crowd, a poor showing if they hoped to reassure their house leader.

But soon enough they all fell into line as Byleth brings Sylvain and Bernadetta (now wearing his loose coat like a blanket) back over.

He starts to lead everyone toward the mechanism just behind Dimitri and Dedue, but takes a brief moment to lock eyes with Marianne. In an instant he gathers everything he needs to and responds with a simple, reassuring nod. She nods back, and they all return to the Monastery proper in silence.


	26. Under the Eagle's Talon

**Part 1 — Lone Moon**

_Soon after escaping from the Holy Tomb, Edelgard von Hresvelg ousted her father from his throne and became the new Adrestian Emperor. She announced to the world her intent of declaring war on the Church of Seiros, who she said divided the Empire twice to sew instability and seize control of Fódlan through a belief system masking a desire for extravagance in spite of the peoples' suffering._

_One of Edelgard's first orders came by air to Garreg Mach and was soon posted on message boards all across the Monastery: Every student from the Adrestian Empire was to return to their homeland to either help with wartime preparations, or to avoid being on the wrong side of impending bloodshed._

_Even though the Lone Moon typically marked a transition out of winter and into a hopeful springtime, the Officers Academy was dourer than ever. Now the harsh reality of war resonated with the faint crying of those being torn away from their friends and peers by the hand of an 18-year-old girl once believed to be a proponent of peace._

* * *

"I just can't believe I did not suspect any of this," laments Professor Manuela as she slumps on a small seat in the office adjacent to the Monastery's Audience Chamber.

She alongside Seteth, Professor Hanneman, Alois and Gilbert of the Knights of Seiros, Byleth and the Officers Academy's two remaining house leaders had gathered for a makeshift war council of sorts. None of them seemed particularly pleased to be there under that banner, but it was a necessity now that Edelgard had announced her intentions.

However, it was clear that Manuela might have been the least enthused of the bunch. The former Mittelfrank Songstress had completely forgone any of the make-up she typically wore at her post as the Black Eagles' instructor and Monastery physician; her hair was a mess; and the fuzzy, blanket-like white cloak she wore over the sleeveless arms of her green corseted dress was barely clinging to her body.

Manuela was known for being disheveled after the binge drinking sessions that followed her universally unsuccessful dates, but the degree of self-loathing she exuded here was unprecedented.

"I was their teacher," she continues under everyone's watchful eye save Dimitri's — he was staring off into the middle distance.

"I should have seen the kind of darkness Edelgard was harboring before it bubbled up and hurt everyone else too. But she's always been such a sweet girl… Certainly not capable of anything we know that dastardly Flame Emperor was up to."

"You mustn't blame yourself, Lady Manuela."

Gilbert, one of the older soldiers in Rhea's charge, leaned against a wall nearby the female instructor. His burly black-and-grey bishop's armor contrasted greatly with his age-worn, slender face and orange hair with visible silver streaks.

"Like the rest of us, you were only looking at the hearty, pristine block of wood she presented outwardly," he says in a low-key tone that expresses his thoughts with a slow, stalwart wisdom. "Had any of us the time to truly begin carving in deeper, eventually her rotting, termite-infested core would have become more obvious."

From beside the room's main desk where Seteth sat and watched over the babbling instructors, Claude scoffs and gently elbows Dimitri.

"Harsh words there, Gilbert. See you've made your judgment call on our new Imperial Empress right quick."

"And I do so wish you'd find a better way to express it than with another damned woodworking analogy!" Manuela says before burying her face in her hands and grunting. "I swear it's like that is the only think you ever think about Gilbert."

The elder knight squints her way, but mostly keeps his serious expression.

"Perhaps I'll come up with more exciting ways of presenting things to you once you find an interest beyond getting your heart broken and reminiscing on your former glory, Lady Manuela."

"Excuse me?!"

Manuela is immediately incensed and jumps to her feet, glowering at the man.

However, her attention is pretty quickly drawn to Professor Hanneman in the seat beside hers. The scholarly silver fox had broken into hearty laughter as he leans into the chair backing where his light brown overcoat hung.

"Oh you think that's funny, you insufferable old coot?"

Manuela gets right up in Hanneman's face, threatening to poke his eye out with one of her sharp nails.

Yet he acts none the wiser, simply rubbing off his monocle on the matching brown fabric of his suit before settling it back over his right eye.

"As a matter of fact, I think it's quite funny Manuela." His voice, though exuding the same age-old wisdom as Gilbert, was higher pitched and dripping with the kind of sarcastic pleasure one can only derive from chastising a long-time rival. "You just can't handle the fact that he pegged you square between those dull brown eyes."

"Why you…"

Manuela snarls and clenches her outstretched hand into a fist. Hanneman continues to laugh at her expense, though Gilbert and Alois have taken to conversing amongst themselves now that things predictably centered on the hothead instructors.

Near where Seteth sat, Byleth glances between his fellow faculty members with a kind of disbelief not apparent in his stony gaze.

Seteth clearly picks up on his underlying attitude when Byleth eventually looks toward him and the house leaders on the opposite side of the desk. The green-haired man sighs and stands up, slamming his hands on the hard surface to immediately shut everyone up and draw their attentions.

"All of these childish assertions are untenable and reflect badly on your senior statuses." Both Manuela and Hanneman look down at the floor when they feel Seteth's harsh words pierce through their physical beings. "This bickering also gets us nowhere on figuring out how we're going to handle this Adrestian Empire situation."

"So how do you recommend we begin to address that, Seteth?" Alois asks as he steps forward from the wall beside Gilbert.

A sort of mentee to the late Captain Jeralt, Alois was very much Gilbert's junior in terms of his slicked-back brown hair and that youthful glow in his blue eyes. However, he was just as an imposing figure while donning glistening white armor with a broad left shoulder plate and a matching cape with reddish-brown interior lining.

Seteth stares at Alois, and then sits down, closes his eyes and drops his chin down on tented, interwoven fingers.

"Frankly I'm not sure," he mumbles. "The Archbishop is beside herself and doesn't think she can provide any worthwhile insights before calming down. As of now we don't even have proper intelligence, our scouting parties are due to return—"

There comes a heavy knock at the closed chamber door.

Everyone's attention is drawn toward the echoing bangs, but nobody moves toward it immediately.

"… Any minute," Seteth finishes before clearing his throat and speaking up. "Come in."

The doors creak open, and in comes Shamir: Another dual-timing Knight of Seiros and Academy instructor known just as well for her straight-forward attitude and battlefield prowess as she was for being an oddity who worked for the Church without being a believer.

Shamir briefly bows towards everyone in the room before straightening out and re-adjusting the green, canvas jacket that only extended down past her bosom.

"Just got back with the scouting teams, and I'm afraid there's bad news." Though she was clearly preparing to deliver an unpleasant status report, Shamir's tone remained as consistently collected — if not somewhat reserved and downtrodden — as ever. "Soldiers are already gathering en masse just outside of Enbarr's city limits. Possibly hundreds of them."

A worried murmuring picks up around the room as the scout runs a hand through her indigo hair and cracks her neck to the side. This little motion jingles the metal on her choker as well.

"We don't know when the army will be prepared or when it will begin to march, but Garreg Mach will undoubtedly see an attack before the month is over."

"They couldn't have possibly prepared an armada of that scale if they only started as soon as Edelgard took the throne," Gilbert remarks with his eyes closed and a hand stroking his chin. "Perhaps the Flame Emperor had more background access to the Empire's resources than we were led to believe."

"I can't imagine they would attack us anytime soon!" Manuela says with some conviction as she slams a fist on the arm of her chair.

"And just what makes you say that?" Hanneman asks, suspicious.

"We still have not finished migrating all of the Adrestian students out of their dormitories," she continues with a touch more annoyance threading each word. "The nobility would never condone an attack if it put their children in danger."

Suddenly, Dimitri punches the wall he was standing by — denting it slightly in the process — and looks out at everyone's surprise with a snarl.

"Do you not see reality?" His tone is harsh, though not near as unhinged or gravelly as it was that day in the Holy Tomb. "If that monster is just as capable of orchestrating so much chaos from the shadows as she is outright seizing the throne, who's to say any single noble could have a say in her affairs?"

Many people look around to avoid Dimitri's gaze, knowing he was right but not wanting to admit it.

Only Claude reaches out, resting a hand on Dimitri's shoulder.

"Come on Dimitri, no need to be so aggressive. We're all in this together, right?"

Dimitri scoffs and rolls his head back, and then runs a hand across it to push his hair away from his face.

"I'm not so sure, Claude." He looks back toward the crowd, squinting with eyes dulled by harsh, sleepless shadows underneath.

"If anyone in this room were truly on my side, they would all be plotting our assault on Enbarr right now. If we can strike at their heart before an army is assembled, then there's no chance they'll be able to stop us!" Dimitri pumps his arms. "We can shred through their defenses before they know what's coming, and then string up Edelgard to dissuade any future uprisings."

"Dimitri."

This time it's Byleth who spoke out, giving his student a stern eye from the other side of the desk. Many of the other faculty members looked a little uncomfortable at the idea of angling so much of the violence at the former Black Eagles' house leader.

"What? Don't tell me you believe I'm in the wrong as well Professor." Dimitri lets out a brief chuckle of disbelief and steps forward, a hand at his heart. "After everything she's done to our families, our friends…"

"I think Professor Byleth is more against the strategy than the conviction," Shamir chimes in.

Her magenta eyes cast an unflinching stare, even when Dimitri looks back at her with gritted teeth.

"I'm the only one here who has seen the sizable army Edelgard has established," Shamir continues. "Even if we marched on Enbarr now, we don't have the forces to surround an entire capital city. They can just as easily retaliate and send more men up different channels to strike at Garreg Mach while we are defenseless."

"Well then we gather more men!" Dimitri's tone is that of someone who believes themselves to be talking to a wall; offering the only solution that nobody else can hear. "I've spoken with Rodrigue Fraldarius. The Kingdom is more than prepared to provide forces for our cause, and I imagine the Alliance must be as well!"

When Dimitri looks over at Claude, he's deflated seeing the other house leader glance away sheepishly.

"Look, Your Highness." Claude takes a deep breath and shakes his head. "Edelgard's call for war has the Leicester nobles all shaken up. Some are on our side, but others think she might have a point."

"They're traitors then." Dimitri prods a finger at Claude's sternum. "If you are to be the head of House Riegan, surely you can prove your authoritarian strength by shoring up your people for war, right?"

"I'd just as soon send my people to die in a battle they don't wish to fight as you would don a Dancer's garb Dimitri, and you know it."

The two students stare each other down for a moment before Shamir interjects.

"In times like this, perhaps it would do you well to be more like your vassal, Prince."

Suddenly all trace of anger and tension in Dimitri's demeanor sap away. He looks at Shamir as if mortally wounded, eyes wide in surprise.

"More like… Dedue?"

Shamir nods.

"Quiet. Contemplative. Always looking to put the safety of others before his own desires." She runs a hand through her hair again, the other angled on her hip. "I've sat silently with him in the Greenhouse and learned more about his convictions than twenty of these war councils could possibly hope to convey. If you died running into a conflict unprepared, his spirit would crumble faster than your Kingdom."

There's a long bout of silence following Shamir's unusually verbose takedown.

Dimitri simply stares with a stunned look plastered to his face, eyes darting all around the room to find he was the center of attention. Even Byleth, his last bastion of hope and support, simply closes his eyes and stands back with crossed arms.

She was right, and everyone knew it. Including Dimitri.

"My apologies," the Prince eventually concedes before starting to make his way to the door. "Please let me know what decision you all come to, I must send a message back to Fhirdiad."

After Dimitri leaves the room, another long silence follows. Everyone was stressed after the events of the previous few days, and it became clearer the longer they sat together in this tiny office. Soon not even the Sword of the Creator could cut through the tension in the air.

But even so, Seteth clears his throat to bring attention back to the meeting.

"Tell us, Shamir…" He begins. "Just how threatening an army are we expecting to come across? We'll need every scrap of information available to prepare."


	27. Jewel of the Eagle's Nest

_Meanwhile…_

Deep within the hallowed halls of Enbarr's Imperial Palace, the new Empress of Adrestia stands in an armory with a collection of her most trusted tacticians and warriors.

The marbled surroundings housed numerous bodies of armor on mannequins against each wall, all of different constitutions for footsoldiers and animal riders alike. At the head of the space was a raised platform displaying the garb of the Flame Emperor — now missing its fiery-patterned mask but still shimmering in an intense torchlight.

Before Edelgard seized power from her father a week prior, the chamber remained secluded and closed off within the Palace to all but a few key figures. Now it was open to all; and Edelgard relished in the opportunity to bring anyone she could there just to ensure the emblem of her all-encompassing ambition weighed on their minds.

She stood before the raised platform, admiring the pristine axe sitting on a horizontal stand at the Flame Emperor's feet alongside Hubert; looking as comfortably slimy as ever in a dark mage's cloak; and Ladislava; the red-eyed brunette who commanded Edelgard's personal guard.

"Would it be too gauche to lead the assault in this armor?" The Empress asks.

Immediately four figures standing in the wings chime in with 'yes man' chatter, assuring Edelgard that her decision would be perfect no matter which way she leaned.

But the white-haired girl callously holds up her right hand, shutting them all up.

"Much appreciated, but I'm not asking you." Her tone is casual, even soft. It contrasted greatly with the visceral fear her compatriots exhibited staring at that well-manicured hand as if it were about to drive through their hearts.

Edelgard turns toward her red-eyed guard and smiles.

"I'd like to know what you think, Ladislava." She reaches out and gently tweaks at the tip of the rightmost metallic bat wing adorning the shoulder plates of her armor. "Anyone who can pull of something like this is someone I'd die to emulate."

The other woman chuckles softly, arms politely folded behind her back. She tilts her head too-and-fro, as if rolling the thought around.

"Frankly, I think anything red suits your complexion wonderfully Milady," she says. "And I would argue there's a certain amount of strategic sense to bolstering our army's morale by deflating theirs."

"Indeed there is," Edelgard mutters. "This armor certainly does have an effect on Dimitri, if nothing else."

"I would advise some caution, Lady Edelgard."

Hubert's words are intense as ever as he slithers forward a step and starts kneeding the base of the Flame Emperor's cloak between his thumb and index finger.

Edelgard eagerly turns around to hear him out.

"Had I not come to break you out of that dank shrine to zealous hypocrisy, you may very well have been torn asunder by that boarish, entitled child."

"And I appreciate your hasty retreat, Hubert. As well as your continual grasp of the English language." She accentuates the tease by her rolling those light purple eyes and brushing some white hair behind her shoulders. "What's your point?"

Hubert looks back at her; one exposed yellow-green eye glinting like a feline's.

"My point is that we would do well to ensure you can inspire despair in our foes without compromising your ability to deftly move and defend yourself."

The Emperor nods slowly. "A fair one."

With a grunt, she squats down and lays her arms over her bent knees. A replica of Edelgard's pastel eyes reflect back in the metal of her battleax, warped no matter how she tries to move her head around different parts of the weapon.

"I'm sure we can make some adjustments."

A moment of silence follows as everyone watches Edelgard do her thing, but it's broken by the sound of a knock at the closed double doors. Before Edelgard is able to stand up straight again and turn around, a soldier has already come inside.

"Did I not request total privacy?" She calls out with a venomous twinge.

"Apologies, Empress." The soldier bows, his voice tinny as it echoes out of a restrictive helmet. "You also requested I bring this guest to your attention as soon as she arrived, no matter the circumstances."

At first Edelgard squints and tilts her head. But as soon as the realization hits her, the girl's eyes widen.

"Oh!" She exclaims.

Suddenly she seems a bit frantic while looking around the room.

"I'm afraid we will have to continue this meeting some other time," Edelgard says before clapping her hands. The sound resonates. "If you could please clear the room, it would be greatly appreciated."

The advisors and Ladislava immediately make their way past the interrupting guard. Only Hubert lingers, trying to figure out what his liege might have been planning.

Then the guest is ushered inside, and for a moment Hubert and Dorothea come face-to-face.

"… I see," Hubert remarks.

He offers her a nod before flaunting his cloak to add some flair to his exit. As soon as he departs, the guard closes the door to leave Edelgard and her guest alone.

The songstress's long hair is particularly unkempt under her black cap. As she takes a moment to look around the room, the bright firelight makes it clear she was brought straight to the Palace without the chance to update her make-up.

"I'll be honest, I did not expect my first visit to the Imperial Palace to be under these circumstances, Edie."

Dorothea's voice sounds hoarse, defeated. It brings a slight frown to Edelgard's lips before she purses them to look stronger.

"Which circumstances would those be, Dorothea?"

The other girl seems downright offended to be fed that line. With a scoff, she turns toward Edelgard and lets all of the frazzled nerves come out with a harsh squeak.

"The circumstances where you and Hubie declare war on our school and then drag me back to Enbarr like it's no big deal!"

Edelgard closes her eyes and turns her head down slightly, clearly expecting this kind of reaction. She stays calm even as Dorothea storms over and gets right in her face, practically screaming under the imposing form of the Flame Emperor.

"This is insane, Edelgard! What the hell are you thinking?!"

There's silence as Edelgard keeps her eyes closed and lets Dorothea simmer. Then she looks up again and meets those angry, tear-stained eyes with a calm demeanor.

"I can't recall the last time I heard my full name part those lips," she says softly. "It's quite unusual… Though I do like the sound."

That reaction only seems to enflame Dorothea further. Her cheeks run red as she stomps her foot and anxiously pulls at the chords hanging off her uniform's shoulders.

"Are you even listening to me?" The green-eyed girl cries out, jutting her head forward in a way that jingles the skirt-shaped earrings hanging from her attached lobes. "How could you possibly turn a blade on our friends? And ask us to do the same!"

Suddenly Edelgard's stillness breaks as she brings her hands up. Dorothea yelps in surprise, but freezes as those hands rest gingerly on her cheeks.

The songstress' eyes dart all about Edelgard's face even as she looks back with confidence.

"Dorothea," she begins in a soft, almost hurt tone. "Believe me: If they stand with the church, the entity that means to separate people like us, they are no friend of ours."

"Wha—"

Now the girl just looks confused, and a little scared. But the feeling of Edelgard's palms on her cheeks and the jittery feeling deep in her core as Edelgard's voice washes over her started to kill those inhibitions.

"I know it's overwhelming to imagine right now, but there is a reason I asked for you to be brought here." The Empress slowly brushes her hands back, pushing Dorothea's hair past her ears in the process. "When I offered you a position at my side those weeks ago, I meant it. But there's a lot you need to know about the Church of Seiros' dark underbelly before I can possibly ask that of you."

"Dark underbelly?" Dorothea mumbles.

Her visceral anger had faded into sympathy as she sensed Edelgard's sincerity.

"Yes. Terrible things that have been spearheaded by the Archbishop in a misguided drive for divine perfection." Edelgard swallows hard. "Things that haunt my every waking moment, and infest the corners of my dreams."

"Edie…"

"It will be hard to hear," Edelgard cautions in a respite from her near-dive into dark thoughts. "But I want you to know everything, Dorothea. Everything… About me."

The girl's gentle touch drops down to Dorothea's shoulders, and the songstress shutters as she feels the tips of those fingers wrap around the back of her neck.

"After all… You are the only one who has ever made me forget about those terrors for even a brief moment." She smiles. "The only one who has ever helped keep my hope for a better future alive."

Dorothea is simply stunned, and spends a long while just staring into Edelgard's pale eyes while trying to work out her thoughts.

"I don't know what to say," she whispers.

"Then don't."

Without another word, Edelgard locks her former classmate into a chaste but loving kiss. Dorothea's eyes shoot open as her mind plays catch-up, trying to make sense of the tingling sensation on her lips; the fog starting to swirl around her head; the slight lean of her upper body that kept them at a more equal height; the unintended motion of her hands now grasping Edelgard's hips.

They embrace for a long while, surrounded by nothing but the cackling sound of embers casting off torches and the silhouette of the Flame Emperor's garb.

When Edelgard finally pulls her head back after what felt like an eternity, she smiles up at Dorothea's dumbfounded stare.

"You seem surprised," the Empress mumbles with a slight giggle.

She keeps her left arm linked around Dorothea's neck as the right one comes out to start twirling her dark brown hair.

"I… Yeah." Dorothea stutters out before clearing her throat to try and return to some semblance of normal. "I didn't realize you would… Or could… You know."

Edelgard immediately catches onto her vague gesturing and nods.

"It's not something I'm at liberty to discuss very… Openly."

Hearing that, Dorothea frowns. But then that frown quickly turns as she leans in and presses the tips of their noses together.

"I'm so happy that you want to share it with me, Edie." Her smile is infectious, and soon the two girls are gazing like love-struck schoolchildren. "And I would love to know more, if you're willing. Everything you want to share."

Edelgard nods, and then reluctantly steps away from Dorothea.

She clears her throat and stretches out her left arm, brushing out the red-colored Black Eagles cape attached to her shoulder in the process.

"You might want to take a seat then," she says. "This could take a while."


	28. Deep-Rooted

**Part 1 — Lone Moon**

_As hours turn into days, the fear of impending conflict bubbles. Daily reports from the front lines in Enbarr become harder to obtain as Edelgard's army grows, but Seteth is just as insistent as ever to secure the safety of Garreg Mach._

_Eventually Shamir returns with dire news. The full force of the Adrestian Empire has begun advancing on the home of the Church of Seiros. With the sheer size of the brigade it was hard to tell how quickly they could advance, but everyone knew there was only a few days at most before the siege would begin. For the remaining students in the Officers Academy, it was time to put their education to the test on a true battlefield._

* * *

As Garreg Mach ran amuck with chaotic preparations, one place remained distinctly peaceful: The Greenhouse.

Deep inside the horticultural chamber full of well-groomed, domesticated gifts of nature at the southern edge of the Monastery, the typically imposing and burly form of the Blue Lion's resident Duscur knight knelt beneath the cool shade of foliage with wide-brimmed leaves. It was a reverent and still scene, distilled to its most potent spirit by the utter silence settling in the otherwise empty room.

Nary a single disturbance of the dirt was out of place, as Dedue was laser-focused on his task. So much so that he appeared completely ignorant to the gentle creak of the Greenhouse doors and somewhat heavier footsteps that followed as Byleth entered.

Of course that illusion was shattered as soon as the Professor moved closer.

"Here you are again," Dedue calmly remarks without looking up from the soil.

Byleth pauses — always caught a little off-guard when the silent protector speaks away from his liege. It wasn't as uncommon an occurrence as it was at the beginning of the school year, but it would be hard to describe Dedue as anything other than "soft-spoken" outside the confides of combat.

"I came to check on the flowers."

Now it was Dedue's turn to pause. He stops mucking around in the dirt and lifts his head up slightly. It had been a long while since the two had met alone in the Greenhouse like this, so much so that the Duscur man was surprised his busy instructor remembered their banal time gardening together.

"I see," he says with a voice as naturally gruff but calm as ever. "The flowers you helped to water are now in bloom. Have a look."

He brushes his hands together to clean off some of the dirt before standing and leading Byleth over to a recently blooming patch of flowers. It seemed the crop's pedals had taken a similar shade of green to Byleth's divined hair.

"Aren't they lovely?" The Professor asks with his arms crossed as he stands beside Dedue.

"Indeed." For a moment the two are in sync, looking down at the flowers with similarly serious expressions. "My sister was fond of this one in particular."

Suddenly Byleth's eyebrows arc with interest. He looks over at the typically reserved student and unfolds his arms.

"Where is your sister now?"

"Dead."

Dedue's eyes close momentarily, but that appears to be all the grief he's willing to express. Byleth's straight-lined expression ticks into a frown.

"Duscur is a dead land. Its flowers were all trampled under the boots of soldiers. But seeing this blossom brings back memories." He takes a deep breath before turning away from the teal-green flowers and moving back to his original spot.

"I do not know why I am telling you all of this."

Byleth follows along after him. "You are unusually talkative today."

The larger boy offers what appears to be a calloused snort, some attempt to hold back a more generous laugh.

"It surprises me as well."

Dedue kneels in front of the foliage and once again starts to dig around. He appears to be pulling out thick roots from what Byleth can see over his shoulder.

"But if you are from Fódlan, you must know what became of the people of Duscur." Byleth nods; he remembers all that Dimitri and others have said about the Tragedy of Duscur. "The people who betrayed their allies from Faerghus. The ones who were punished for regicide. The Duscur are shunned for their crimes, even now."

Dedue's work pauses once again, and then he shakes his head before continuing.

"It would be in your interest not to spend any more time around me than necessary."

"Dimitri doesn't shun you, " Byleth almost immediately retorts.

The Duscur man smiles to himself.

"His Highness is an exception."

"And what of the others?" Byleth continues. "You're a valued ally, Dedue. I don't perceive anyone does not appreciate it by now."

"It took Ingrid some time to see beyond my darker complexion." Dedue's voice sounds remorseful rather than distasteful. "But I do believe she has stopped holding me personally responsible for the death of her fiancé."

Glenn Fraldarius. Of all those who perished alongside the old king of Faerghus that fateful day, his ghost was the one who seemed to haunt Byleth's class most.

"Speaking of…" Byleth starts to rub his chin thoughtfully. Something told him it would not be right to linger on such heavy and personal subjects. "Is there a reason you are here gardening, and not preparing for battle?"

Dedue nods again. "I am, actually." He turns his upper body slightly to show off one of the dirt-spackled roots in his calloused palm. "If we grind these into a fine powder, we can strengthen everyone's vulnerary supplies and offer them more potent medicines."

The Professor smiles warmly.

"Thoughtful as ever I see." He reaches out and rests a hand on Dedue's shoulder. "It's just that kind of caring which makes you so valued on and off the battlefield."

"Thank you, Professor." Dedue turns toward the torn-up flowerbed and returns to work. "To be completely candid… It pleases me to be able to speak with you like this. If you truly do not mind, I would be glad to receive more visits from you in the future."

"Of course. It would be my pleasure."

The two soft-spoken men share another moment of quiet, contemplative gardening before Byleth stands and turns to the exit. There were more students he needed to check on in preparation for the impending assault.

However, just before he gets the chance to push the Greenhouse doors open, Dedue calls out.

"Professor."

When the green-haired man turns around, he finds his white-haired pupil standing as well. Even from far away, his build was overwhelming.

"I want you to know that I trust you more than anyone else here at Garreg Mach."

Byleth can't help but smile at the sentiment, but it fades as Dedue continues.

"His Highness has always been… Troubled. He puts on a genial front, but thoughts of his past and future both infest his waking life."

Dedue holds the small collection of roots at his side and walks to the door.

"Even before the situation with Edelgard escalated, His Highness has always had trouble sleeping. Since that night in the Holy Tomb he has been inconsolable."

"I have noticed the dark circles under his eyes. Should I assume Dimitri is the source of those rumors about ghosts in the training grounds as of late?"

The general lack of a response from Dedue as he stops in front of his instructor is pretty much confirmation enough. Byleth nods.

"Ashe should be pleased to hear it."

"Professor." The resolve in Dedue's tone is enough to silence Byleth. "Should something happen when the Adrestian Empire attacks, I would like to entrust His Highness to you. I'm afraid that he might break at any moment… And you are a good grounding force."

Another long moment of silence settles over the two, but this time it feels tenser.

Byleth stares into his student's green eyes and tries to pick up any hint of reservation or doubt. There's none to be found.

"Don't let those thoughts bog you down Dedue," he says. "As long as I'm around, nothing will happen to you — or anyone else, for that matter."

The Professor offers his hand, all but cutting his palm to make the agreement more binding.

They shake, and then Byleth leaves Dedue to the rest of his work. He brushes a bit of the rich soil off on his leggings while pushing his way back into the Monastery proper.


	29. The Battle of Garreg Mach — Part 1

**Part 1 — Lone Moon**

_The evacuation of Garreg Mach Monastery and its surrounding settlements had been in full swing by the time the Adrestian Empire arrived at the Church of Seiros' doorstep. They did not seem to pay the fleeing civilians much mind; the Monastery and its faculty were the full focus of every soldier and every beast in the invading army._

_Rhea took Byleth aside before the conflict to confer (symbolically, for now) her sacred duties as the head of the Church to him. As the new embodiment of Fódlan's progenitor god, he was the only one truly fit to protect the land should Garreg Mach fall._

_When the Empire's army began to flood the town on the Monastery outskirts, even the Archbishop took to the battlefield. She served as the last line of defense with Seteth, Hanneman and Manuela. But it was Byleth who took point and strategized for the Blue Lions and Golden Deer. Opinions on the conflict varied, and some were scared heading into the fight… But everyone knew this was what they had been training for — the chance to protect their home and their friends._

* * *

Edelgard held nothing back with her invasion.

Troops filled every street and alleyway in the small town, broken into well-oiled battalions led by highly skilled commanders. Ladislava, captain of Edelgard's personal guard, swept the grounds with a band of wyvern-riding knights to slaughter standalone Knights of Seiros. Reinforcements for the Church were held at bay by the forces of the Death Knight and Hubert, who personally commanded a bevy of Winged Demonic Beasts: The same blackened-bandaged ilk which had joined the battle in the Holy Tomb but granted flight and kept under control by hefty stone masks.

There were many avenues to cover — perhaps too many for one person to truly grasp. But Byleth had a few advantages when tackling the monumental task, not the least of which being the intuition of a dulled omnipresence deep in the recesses of his mind.

First and foremost was the trust he held in his class. Be they of noble or common blood, every youth on the battlefield was experienced beyond their years and could easily hold their own against an army of soldiers. That gave him the freedom to join the fight himself. He brought the almighty Sword of the Creator down to the eastern front alongside Felix, Annette, Flayn and Mercedes, where the Death Knight patiently waited for a challenger underneath battlements that opened into a sprawling park.

They also had a potent advantage that Edelgard's army could never hope to best: The immense power buried deep within the Hero's Relics many of his students carried.

Running through the middle of the town was a long, ornate road lined by slim, babbling rivers of water. At the northern tip of the road stood Rhea at the base of the staircase leading into Garreg Mach's marketplace. At the southern tip stood Edelgard, patiently waiting for her men to clear the path ahead.

Randolph, a Warrior promoted to general status since the Empress' coup, led the band she sent up that ornate road. He and Ladislava shared pale red eyes and absolute fealty to Edelgard, distinguishing them from the faceless soldiers under their command.

Yet his assaulting force was completely unprepared for a dive-bombing Pegasus that hid its approach in the golden glare of the setting sun. By the time it reached the ground, carrying Ingrid and Sylvain, it was too late. The Blue Lions cleared out all six footsoldiers at once, using their familial heirlooms to knock most of them asunder with powerful swipes charged by scarlet energy. Randolph himself fell back to the hefty hooves of Ingrid's steed, passing out with a sore chest.

As quick as they arrived, the two students flew off again. Adrestian archers manning planted ballistae in the lawns surrounding the approach to Garreg Mach fired at will. Ingrid was a little too fast, but their projectiles chased her into the reach of Ladislava's band of wyverns. They proceeded to chase the Blue Lions' lone flier and her accomplice through the sky all across town.

The grounded archers continued to focus on hitting Ingrid, which left them susceptible to surprise blasts of frozen magic cast by Marianne as she ran down the central avenue. It took two attacks to completely freeze the Adrestian soldier in the leftmost ballistae, and by then the rightmost archer noticed her assault.

He aimed his immense weapon toward the blue-haired girl while she was turned away. Just when it was ready to fire, however, he's pulled out of the device by the strong grasp of Raphael's gauntlet. The large commoner, typically never seen without rations even in the heat of battle, was unusually focused.

Rather than defeating the soldier himself, Raphael tosses his captive back into the dirt and lets him get trampled by the combined charge of fellow Golden Deer Leonie and Lorenz; each having circled around Byleth's combat with the Death Knight so they could liberate guard towers in the southeastern part of town.

Once the ballistae were cleared, Ashe and Ignatz took them over. Raphael, of course, helped his shy, bespectacled friend into the rightmost device as Ashe moved Marianne's frozen victim out of the other on his own.

Their bolts were trained on the Demonic Beasts who flew above the skyline of buildings from the perspective of that central pathway. Hilda and Dedue were kept at bay by the hurricane gusts of wind that blew each time they flapped their wings, and Claude struggled to take either beast at the forefront down on his own despite standing on the roof of an old apothecary to get a better vantage.

As Marianne turned her attention to the Demonic Beast's threatening aura, so potent it was practically caustic, she did not notice when Randolph begins to rise. The commander gets to his feet and brandishes his large steel axe with murderous intent.

"I have no choice but to distinguish myself in this fight," he says just loud enough to pull over Marianne's stunned gaze. "I am Randolph von Bergliez. Commit it to memory, it's the last name you'll ever hear!"

He runs at the cleric, footing bogged down by the hefty armor his status afforded.

That slower approach gives Marianne time to back away until she can calm her heavy breathing and steel herself for another freezing bolt.

"Stay back!" She cries, voice wavering.

Her attack lands and bursts against Randolph's right arm, causing him to briefly stumble as his spiked shoulder plate is encased in ice. Yet the distraction is brief, and soon he's running at Marianne full-force once again.

"I won't fail!" He says with his axe raised to strike.

Marianne's eyes widen, as she looks up at the glinting steel, too afraid to move.

Luckily, Lysithea slides in at that moment with her right hand extended.

"Seraphim!"

As she shouts, an orb of heavenly light launches from her outstretched palm. It explodes at Randolph's feet in a dazzling display befitting a caravan of fireworks and lets out a highly pressured wave of energy. Both Randolph and Marianne fly back as Lysithea shifts her arms in front of her face and holds her ground.

Once the explosion settles and the ground stops rumbling, a blackened residue is left behind on the superheated ground. Lysithea straightens out her posture brushes off her uniform before turning to run after Marianne — now sprawled out on her back.

"Hey! Are you okay?" The white-haired girl asks as she leans over Marianne.

"I think so…" Marianne slowly sits up with a groan, and then puts her right hand on her forehead. "That was incredible, Lysithea."

Just as the young girl was about to reach out and help her former classmate, she pulls her hand back to her chest. The compliment, as genuinely as Marianne delivered it, left her looking sour.

"How have we never studied magic together?" The blue-haired girl continues. "I would be far more useful if I could achieve a quarter your strength."

Lysithea grits her teeth and looks away, fist balled and shaking.

"Because I wouldn't want that for you," she says. Marianne's happy expression falters. "I wouldn't wish this power on anyone."

Before Marianne can get a word in edgewise, Lysithea turns to find Randolph had slipped away while they were distracted. A tactical retreat. She glowers and curses under her breath before running to one of the alleyways at the far end of the western lawn to join the fight against the Winged Demonic Beasts.

Marianne is left looking devastated as she sits on the floor.

"Was it something I said?" She mumbles.

Maybe she wasn't cut out for friends, that nagging voice repeated in the back of her head. Clearly people didn't enjoy spending time with her, and were willing to say anything to get away from her ghastly presence.

It'd been some time since those thoughts unburied themselves. As of late she was able to chase them away by thinking of Byleth… Or Dimitri. But he had been so distant since everything erupted with Edelgard that Marianne felt cast aside.

Yet she could still hear Dimitri's voice as clearly as if they had talked the day prior. Every time he spoke she melted at the sound, even if it was just saying—

"Marianne?"

She yelps and looks up, finding the Prince conjured by her thoughts.

Dimitri looked worse for wear: His armor scratched and spackled with dirt and blood, his eyes sullen from a lack of sleep, and his golden hair disheveled. Yet the calm humanity he emanated was still obvious as he reached a gloved hand out to the girl.

She eagerly takes it, letting Dimitri help pull her to her feet.

"Thank you," she mumbles with her eyes cast downward as she brushes dust off her long skirt. "Lysithea's spells pack a punch, don't they?"

Dimitri nods and runs a hand through his hair, the other digging the blunt end of his lance into a crevice between the road's bricks. He looks off at the Demonic Beasts and sees more evidence of her explosive power knocking one from the sky.

"Indeed. She and Annette are in entirely different leagues."

Marianne immediately notes that his tone lacks its old energy. Something stabbed at her heart, the thought that perhaps she had screwed things up with him too and they would never get to talk over sorbet as they once did.

A silence settles, but Marianne breaks it before Dimitri can return to the fray.

"Dimitri?" Her voice is weak, but still catches his full attention.

"Yes?"

"I know it isn't exactly the most opportune time," she begins with a glance at the fighting and fires breaking out all across town. The distraction leaves her question trailing off, but when she looks back at the Prince her words come out with a stronger conviction.

"But before things get too out of control, I was hoping we could talk." She swallows back a hard lump of nerves. "About that night at the ball."

Dimitri's shoulders slump and his eyes dart away. His entire body quivers with hesitation, and the sight drives Marianne to silence again.

"I think we should talk about it too," he manages softly.

Marianne perks up, surprised.

"But not in the middle of a battlefield."

Just when she begins to deflate, Dimitri raises her head up with a hand on her cheek. Marianne's eyes widen and her face runs red.

"We'll talk about it soon," he assures with a slight smile. "I promise."

The girl nods and presses her head into his hand a little more.

"I'll hold you to that."

Dimitri chuckles, and then he turns to look toward Edelgard off in the middle distance. His entire energy shifts, like an animal bristling its fur.

"For now, I'm afraid I'm being held to other promises," he says in a slight, yet severe voice. "My father. My stepmother. My dear friends. They want her head. They want her life. They've whispered as much to me."

As he begins to walk away, limbs pulled along as if he were a marionette, Marianne quickly grows concerned. She follows his motion.

"The chance to answer their pleas has arrived, at long last!" Dimitri says with a suddenly giddy, unhinged tone. "I won't rest until I've crushed her skull in my bare hands!"

With that he starts racing toward the unmasked Flame Emperor.

Marianne holds out a hand, muttering for him to wait. However, she knew the gesture would be futile. Not even Byleth could hold him back when he got like this; what could she possibly hope to do?

One thought comes to mind. A thought that drives her eyes down to a discarded lance.


	30. The Battle of Garreg Mach — Part 2

_**A very brief shout out in this chapter goes to Cosmic Sky, who reminded me a few weeks ago that I would be an idiot not to have at least a brief interaction between the vassals of the Blue Lions and Black Eagles houses before the inevitable time skip. **_

_**Spoilers for that happening in this chapter I suppose... But it's fine.**_

_**We're fine.**_

* * *

One of the Demonic Beasts laying siege to the eastern side of the town plummets from the sky with a blood-curdling screech as its right wing is shredded by Lysithea's blast of angelic light. When it crashes to the ground, its other wing — clothed in the same bile-black bandages as the rest of its grotesquely malformed figure — runs through an abandoned storefront and immediately reduces the front of the building to rubble.

While the combined force of the collapsed monster and toppled structure create a quake and a dust cloud that encumbers everything within a mile, Hilda and Dedue are seemingly unperturbed.

The beast's face was covered by a yellowed stone mask with the façade of a wise sage, vastly contrasting the monstrous gaze underneath. A beak reminiscent of a plague doctor's mask protrudes, extending the reach of its splayed out neck as it lay dazed on the ground.

As the two axe-wielding students make their way past the point where the end of the beak cracks into the earth, they race along either side of the smooth stone fixture. Hilda slows her stride and gives Dedue time to reach the main part of the mask, where he immediately draws his silvery weapon back and slams its sharp edge into the cheek underneath the wise sage's closed eyes. A few cracks run up the mask, but the creature underneath has no response beyond its squirming to try and stand again.

Thanks to the Blue Lions' previous skirmishes with the Demonic Beasts, it was well known that their sources of life were the Crest Stones buried in their foreheads. That fact was clearly not lost on the Adrestian Empire given their efforts to cover the weak points with masks, but the knowledge was also spread to members of the other houses at Garreg Mach.

Thus, Hilda knew exactly what their goal was the moment Dedue prompted this team attack. Once his strike weakens the covering mask, Hilda rears her own weapon back over her shoulder. The red gem in the center of her Freikugel — the Heroes Relic of house Goneril — bathes its user and the nearby smooth yellow stone in a bright scarlet glow. That glow quickly erupts into black-and-red flames that envelop the spiked fan of bones serving as the weapon's blade.

The pink-haired girl grunts at the strain of lifting the axe over her shoulder again and swinging it toward the beast's mask. She cries, "Apocalyptic Flame!" as it connects.

Freikugel's serrated blade bores into the mask, and red veins begin to web around the impact site underneath the surface of the stone. Those veins continue to spread across the mask, eventually joining with the comparatively light fractures left by Dedue's attack. Then, in an instant, flames burst out onto the surface from every illuminated spot and the mask cracks to pieces. Every piece of stone practically disintegrates in the magical fires of the Heroes Relic.

This attack leaves the Demonic Beast reeling, and it writhes against the ground with its fleshy face exposed and bubbling with third-degree burns. Both the axe-wielders back away to avoid getting crushed as its body knocks into more of the surrounding structures and creates a larger ring of debris.

The beast's pain is brought to an immediate, sudden end as a deftly aimed arrow shatters the exposed Crest Stone in its forehead. Once the creature falls limp and begins to slowly revert back to its original human form, Hilda looks up to find her House Leader Claude offering thumbs up from the roof of a nearby building. She grins and flips her left ponytail back over her shoulder before holding up her smoldering weapon as a sort of 'thank you' gesture. Lysithea joins Hilda and offers her own wave up to the scraggly-haired boy in the bee-colored attire.

However, Dedue's attention is still focused on the decaying beast — or rather, what he could see around its gnarled form once the mass has faded away.

Hubert stood at the town's eastern entrance chokepoint, lobbing deathly blasts of energy at anyone beyond its walls with a carefree malice.

The Church of Seiros planned to bring in reinforcements from the east and west to surround Edelgard's army, but even the best-laid plans had to succeed in the face of an opposing strategy.

The sniper Shamir had been chosen to lead the eastern flank before the battle commenced, but her arrows were rendered useless by the sheer force of Hubert's magic that blew his slimy, slicked-up hair back each time it was cast.

His sinister laugh reverberates as he idly chastises the stalled churchgoers, but is cut off by a pained cry from behind as the soldier guarding his back was thrown asunder by a weighty slice from Dedue's axe. The dark mage quickly turns toward the new threat and hops back, just out of reach of a second swing.

"Ah, the Duscur." Hubert disdainfully remarks as he fires off a quick burst of pitch-black energy.

Dedue catches the brunt of the attack with his shield, which makes him skid backward along the cracked floor.

"I will hear no slights against my people from the lapdog of their oppressor."

His response is accompanied by a swift thrust of his shield off to the side, casting the remainder of Hubert's magical energy off with it. Dedue uses that motion to start a sprint, and even in the heavily armored garb he's able to quickly close the gap.

Hubert once again avoids damage to anything but the hem of his black robe as he jumps out of the way, laughing.

"That's quite a statement coming from the only man so eager to let himself be chained by a rabid boar," Hubert says with a jovial tone that leaves Dedue snarling as he tugs his axe blade out of the floor. "As if your nationality didn't make you enough of a mutt, you seem almost too willing to drive the point home."

The dark mage throws out another blackened fireball with a leaned back posture; cocky in the face of an opponent he clearly underestimates.

His hubris is rectified when Dedue slices the magical attack in half, sending its bisected halves around his body to smolder into puffs of ash. He follows through with a shield charge that knocks the wind out of Hubert and sends him stumbling back.

Hubert then bluntly cries out in pain as Dedue swings again, slicing through his robe and forcing the mage to kneel on his gashed leg.

"His Highness fights for virtuous causes, for truth and for equality." Dedue remarks callously as he takes a slow hop away from Hubert to ready his shield for any retaliatory attacks. "Your master is a scheming, manipulative murderer. She aligns herself with creatures who are an affront to the Gods themselves, and she will be stopped."

Hubert looks up at his now-towering opponent with a snarl exasperated by his widened, lime-colored eyes — typically obscured by a cautious squint and a mask of hair over his right eye.

But once Dedue finishes his heroic speech, the man's entire expression shifts into a cruel smile as he laughs.

"And tell me you Duscur mutt, would you jump through any hoop in the name of Dimitri's crusade?" He slowly gets to his feet, trying hard not to let the pain in his leg show through. "If he ordered you to kill every man, woman and child in the Adrestian Empire in the name of this so-called virtue, would you ask 'how soon'?"

Dedue hides most of his face behind his shield, but his bright blue eyes remain true over top of it.

"If it were his desire. Without hesitation."

Hubert's smile fades as he rolls his head to the left and cracks his neck.

"Perhaps we are not so different after all then," he says with a shrug. "It's just too bad you've chosen to side with as wretched an establishment as the Church of Seiros."

Both man's attentions are pulled to the skies over the city as a vicious crack of lightning cuts through it. The red-and-black clouds of a Ruined Sky conjured by Sylvain's Lance of Ruin scars the otherwise clear sky, forming a divide between a lone white flier and a party of green wyverns. One of those wyverns plummets from the air, casting a trail of smoke in its wake.

"Despicable," Hubert hisses before he spits on the ground. "You dare speak to me about affronts to any deity while your ilk uses the wretched tools of our true enemy."

Dedue turns back to face Hubert right when the mage casts a more potent dark spell: Death, a swirling blend of dark clouds and venomous purple light that continually reforms itself while flying at its target.

The effects create a cackling skull shape just before slamming into Dedue's shield and sending him skidding backward again. This time the energy is potent enough to keep a steady speed, which forces Dedue to fall back on his rear before it fully dissipates.

Hubert snickers as he shakes off his hand before crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"As if a brute like you could ever stand a chance against a true-blooded heir of House Vestra." He raises his right hand again, and it crackles with more dark magic. "Perhaps I'll crush you inside of that armor like a tin can. Then at least there will be something to identify your corpse."

An arrow flies in from the east just before Hubert can let anything loose, scraping against the top of his hand. The dark mage cries out as he looks over his shoulder to find Shamir with her bow raised at the entryway.

"You're messing with the wrong man, Hubert." Shamir narrows her eyes, voice steady and calm.

"Damn," he hisses while clutching his hand. "Now I have to deal with the Dagda girl too. This just got complicated…"


	31. The Battle of Garreg Mach — Part 3

_**Another brief aside before this chapter: With Annette, Bernadetta and Lysithea coming to Fire Emblem Heroes at the same time, I happened to remember a side-story starring the three of them that I had imagined up but never got the opportunity to throw into the Academy portion of this story.**_

_**If that's something you'd be interested in reading let me know! I could probably make a decent spin-off/unconnected extra Three Houses fic if there's an audience for it.**_

* * *

Edelgard watches from afar as her battalion of Wyvern Knights is chipped away by the Ruined Sky, using her full-body length shield like a visor from the flashes of lightning while propping herself up with the spiked tip of her axe.

"You'd best make it out of this fight intact Ladislava," she mumbles into the high collar of the Flame Emperor's armor.

Randolf and the Death Knight had already retreated with substantial injuries, the latter in particular scarred by the might of Byleth's blade yet seemingly giddy at the opportunity he'd gotten to see its power first-hand. Even after all these months, Edelgard was still unsure how to approach her bloodthirsty lackey.

With her commanders seemingly faltering left and right, the snowy-haired Empress knew that it would soon be time for her to properly join the fray — despite Hubert's insistence to the contrary.

What kind of leader would she be if she let her army perish while enjoying a spot of tea in Enbarr, or partaking in some other ridiculous pleasantry of her noble status?

"Milady," one of the two soldiers at her side suddenly remarks, pulling her away from her laser-focus on the skies above.

As she brings her gaze toward the ground again, the two lightly padded knights are moving to guard her front as a blond boy in black-and-blue stumbles down the path. His lance tip sparks against the cracked stone as it drags behind.

Edelgard smirks and closes her eyes, head tilting down to let her hair cascade over the black-and-red smock adorning the front of her pitch-dark suit of armor.

"I was wondering how long it would take for you to find me, Dimitri."

The boy stops and visibly shudders, as though the mere sound of her voice threatened to tear his body apart molecule by molecule. His head rolls across the back of his neck from left to right, and then he lifts his lance to hold it toward his foes.

"We are all tired of waiting," Dimitri calls back, voice breathy and strained. His grip on the lance tightens to the point that it looks on the brink of shattering. "Let's separate that sick head from your neck, shall we?"

With an unhinged grin and a few snickers through his nose, Dimitri begins to run at Edelgard.

Her soldiers race to meet with, and stop the Blue Lions' head before he can get too close, but Edelgard just stands back to watch. Part of her knew she should call off their counter-attack and save a few more lives but… They were going to throw their lives away for their Empress no matter what she commanded of them.

The girl's pale eyes suggest a shred of remorse as she watches Dimitri shatter the leftmost guard's helmet with a single swing before he follows through by twirling around the other guard's attack and meeting it with an eviscerating slice to his core.

She couldn't help but note the strange beauty in his loose form of fighting, the kind of pure, unadulterated skill that the Prince possessed when his mind was clear.

But that appreciation was brief, as soon Dimitri was headed her way again. Edelgard steels her gaze and holds her shield out while rearing back her axe to prepare a counter play for whatever attack he would deliver.

Dimitri goes for the straight-forward approach: He slams his lance into the left side of her shield to force it aside, but has to back away before she brings her own weapon down where he would have been.

"You never were one for patience," Edelgard says through gritted teeth.

She brings her weapon up from the ground while sliding forward, hoping to catch his leg with the sharp end of the axe's shaft.

The less hefty armor Dimitri wore made him more agile, so he easily dodges the thrust by lifting his right foot above it. Before Edelgard can pull away, he stomps down and sends it careening onto the ground. The actual axe blade has nothing to catch onto and slides onto its side, twisting Edelgard's arm in the process, and giving Dimitri the upper hand as he locks the weapon down with his boot.

"You're undeserving of my patience," he hisses while raising his lance with both arms — aimed directly at Edelgard's face.

Her purple eyes widen as she brings her immense shield up to block the jab.

At the same time as that strike resonates against the metallic protector, the Empress lets go of her axe so it falls to the floor. Dimitri stumbles when the loss of its upward angle trips up his footing, and Edelgard takes advantage of the moment by bashing him with her shield; the protruding bit above her grip hitting his sternum.

Dimitri falters a few paces back, coughing and holding his chest as he attempts to catch his breath.

She casually kneels to pick her weapon up off the floor.

"I wish you were someone whose heart could be swayed by my words and deeds," Edelgard says with a somber sigh as she straightens out again, shield and axe at the ready. "If it were so, I would have done anything to make you my ally…"

Dimitri's grip on his weapon grows more intense as he snarls, weezing slightly.

"Perhaps you should have thought of that before you slaughtered my father in cold blood, you witch."

The girl has no response, and he offers her no opportunity to think one up.

Dimitri takes a few heavy steps forward again and brings his lance up over his head, and then slams it down like a hammer.

Edelgard raises her axe up to meet the attack, and grunts as the collision draws the crossed weapons dangerously close to her head. As the steel brushes against the crimson feather plumes lining her shoulders, she drops her shield to the floor so she can grasp the axe handle with both hands to push back against his lance.

"You hide in this blackened shroud," Dimitri says as the clashing weapons makes their arms shutter. "Because you're ashamed to wear the banister of your Black Eagles' lineage. Because you're afraid of tainting that which your so-called friends believe in."

The Empress' gaze dart across her opponent's face, but can't seem to escape the pull of his dead eyes.

"You know that your soul is the wellspring of despair, the very source of all Fódlan's suffering." The boy snarls as he pushes her arms down more.

"A bleak plague carved into your very being."

Edelgard yelps as she feels her arms starting to buckle under the sheer power of the Crest of Blaiddyd that flowed through his veins. She needed to turn the tide, and fast.

When he presses down toward her head again, she tries a last-ditch maneuver.

By letting go of her axe with her hand closest to the base, it immediately tilts askew from his pressure. The stick bounces harmlessly against her shoulder as his lance slides off in that direction and winds up careening into the floor. Webs of cracks in the stone weave out from the impact site, and Dimitri grimaces as it reverberates back into his body.

With a huff, Edelgard follows through by kneeing Dimitri in the face. Her armored strike immediately stuns the boy and makes him stumble back, some blood gushing from his nose.

Then Edelgard rears her axe to the side and swings it into him like a bat. As she does, her aggressive cry triggers the brief flash of a Crest in her eyes — the very same their mysterious Professor Byleth was believed to be the only possessor of.

The sharp edge cracks into Dimitri's armor and sends him flying with a breathless grunt. He lands hard and tumbles a good few feet away, his lance scattering even farther.

As he settles onto his back with arms spread, momentarily passed out, Edelgard turns to face him. She struggles to catch her breath through heavy pants, axe very loosely held at her side. Her free arm wipes some of the sweat from her forehead.

"I meant what I said," she mumbles through her strained breathing.

Her footsteps clang against the stone path as she slowly trudges toward him.

"I didn't want to make you my enemy, Dimitri."

She stands over his limp, collapsed form and tightens her grip on her axe so she can begin to raise it skyward.

"I see now that no amount of explanations or apologies will help you see past what you think you know about me." She squints. "At least I can put you out of your misery, old friend."

Before Edelgard can bring her weapon down, she's stunned by a sharp, feminine cry as pain shoots through her abdomen. Her raised arm quivers until she loses her grip on the axe and it falls harmlessly to the side.

Her gaze slowly pans over to find Marianne, holding back a well of tears in her eyes as she drives her lance deeper into the weak point in the Flame Emperor's armor.

Edelgard groans in pain as she pivots to face the blue-haired girl and grasps the forward end of the lance with both hands, stopping it from being pushed in more.

"Never would I have expected Marianne von Edmund to raise a weapon against me," she says hoarsely before coughing up a little blood. "Of all people…"

"I'm… Not as weak… As I look…" The cleric hisses back before she bites her lip to steel herself before trying to thrust the lance against.

This time Edelgard is prepared, and her strength far outmatches the other girl's.

"You're not as strong as you think you are, either."

Edelgard pushes back, slowly and excruciatingly drawing the sharp metal out of her side with a continuous groan and whimper.

"I… Didn't want to fight you either Marianne," she remarks through hard breaths.

Marianne licks her lips and shakes her head, arms straining against Edelgard.

She takes a deep breath. "Why not kill me too?"

Edelgard gasps out as the weapon frees itself from her skin, stained red. She leans in, letting her words come out slowly and methodically.

"Because your Crest may still be of use to me one day."

The other girl's eyes widen with shock, and Edelgard takes advantage of the opportunity to tug control of the lance away. She then thrusts it forward and hits Marianne in the stomach with the blunt base of the weapon.

Marianne cries out in pain, doubling over and letting tears spill down her cheeks, as even that relatively weak attack is too much for her unarmored body.

Before Edelgard can do anything more, Hubert appears in a flash of light beside his master and casts a blast of dark magic that sends Marianne flying.

The concussive force of the attack knocks her out, too.

Though Hubert looks worse off, robe cut up as he hobbles on his gashed leg, all of his attention is immediately focused on Edelgard's wound.

"Lady Edelgard, you've been hurt."

He puts both hands over the open hole in her abdomen and casts a basic healing spell. She grimaces at the sting, but lets him continue.

"You don't look much better Hubert."

Hubert shakes his head. "It's nothing. I'm just relieved I could come to your aid in time."

Edelgard laughs, though it's clearly shaken by the pain.

"We really must stop making this a habit… You rescuing me from certain doom."

"I will never not rescue you, Lady Edelgard."

He pulls his hands away and glances toward Marianne over his shoulder. The dark mage snarls and shakes his head.

"Come, we must get you out of here. You need proper medical attention."

Edelgard nods, closes her eyes and takes a deep breath through her nose.

"Right," she sighs. "Send in our reserve troops. And give my uncle the signal."

Hubert takes her arm, but before he can zap them both away Edelgard hastens one last look at Dimitri passed out on the floor. Then, they're gone in an instant.


	32. Falling

The denizens of Garreg Mach are overwhelmed when Edelgard tipped her hand and revealed hundreds more soldiers prepared to march on the Monastery. Fighting had become a lost cause. Everyone left on the battlefield retreated and prepared to board the few remaining caravans fleeing to the Leicester Alliance and the Kingdom of Faerghus.

Byleth remains on the hilltop adjacent to the Monastery, however, and watches as armed soldiers swarm out of the town where they'd made their last stand and ascend like waves of ants to a toppled picnic.

The Professor palms the hilt of his etched-bone blade, prepared to knowingly risk everything if necessary.

But then a gentle hand on his shoulder stops him from advancing.

Archbishop Rhea, her brighter green hair even more iridescent in the golden hues of the setting sun, passes in front of the stone-faced instructor. Her gait is steady, calm in the face of a storm that would undoubtedly dismantle everything she held dear. Even her thin-lipped smile is unusually perky as she glances back toward Byleth over her shoulder.

Her words are as collected: "Everything here, young and old, is in your hands."

Byleth's grip on his sword tightens. Some part of him had never fully come to trust Rhea's grandiose presentation and her iron-grip on any and all information that passed through Garreg Mach. Yet he could see in her eyes that same willingness to risk everything to protect the remaining students and faculty.

Her comment also struck true. If anyone knew anything about what Byleth had gone through the last few months, it would be her. She knew of the power he had inherited, and how careless it would be to throw it away at the inception of the war.

So, with a reluctant breath out through his nose, he lets go of the Sword of the Creator and nods.

As the Archbishop turns to face the precipice of the cliff overlooking Edelgard's approaching army, Byleth could feel a tug at his gut. A voice in his head sounds off, telling him to run. Something was about to happen, and he didn't want to be there.

He turns and runs, black jacket rippling behind him as Rhea closes her eyes.

"No. I will not allow another Red Canyon tragedy to happen here," she mutters.

Suddenly her entire body is enveloped in a grassy emerald light that expands out until the woman was replaced by a star locked to the Earth.

When the light contracts again, Rhea is gone. In her place is an immense dragon, white as eggshells, with a wingspan the size of eight city blocks and a line of charcoal spikes running up its spine that match the four horns jutting from its forehead and snout.

The beast roars and the ground shakes around it, the very act splintering the remaining strands of skin toward the edges of its maw so rows of jagged teeth could be exposed. A shimmering green aura continues to encompass its figure as the dragon flaps its wings and takes off, but the aura fades by the time it was halfway to the town.

Byleth makes his way to the remaining front lines holding off advanced scouting troops to usher students toward their fleeing caravans. The house leaders, Dimitri and Claude, are some of the few youths who kept their weapons.

However, only Claude stops in awe of Rhea touching down in the middle of the advancing army. Her scaly talons immediately flatten and grind a number of soldiers into the dirt, and more scatter as she raises her elongated draconic neck to the sky for a spine-tingling roar.

"What is going on?" He asks with a hand up to the side of his head, trying to comprehend exactly what the Archbishop had become.

Dimitri was lost to his slaughter, still dinged up from his encounter with Edelgard but nowhere near ready to give in.

Byleth only turns to watch Rhea's bestial form when he can sense the energy she begins charging like an orb of fire between her jagged teeth. Again a voice spoke deep inside him, and he knew he was witnessing the true power of an ancient being he had only read about in the library: The Immaculate One.

The Immaculate One lets loose the orb of energy as a continuous beam that fires off when she slams her tapered tail against the ground like a drum. As it passes through the army and the town that made their backdrop, everything is vaporized in holy fire.

As buildings crumble, a pack of grounded Demonic Beasts rush forth through the rising cloud of dust. These beasts were of the same experimental ilk as the Adrestian Empire had been utilizing, but adorned with the same stone mask as the flying foes that Hubert controlled in the first wave. They were trained, and clearly trained to kill Rhea from how ceaselessly they bolt toward her.

Multiple Demonic Beasts manage to evade her swipe and leap onto the dragon three times their size, eventually overwhelming her and sending The Immaculate One tumbling into the cobbled wall that separated this town from a bottomless chasm.

Byleth knew he should remain to help the students, but feels an almost maternal instinct drive him toward the battle of the colossi. Once he's close enough, it only takes one thrust of his extending, chain-like weapon to shatter the mask of one of the monstrosities in a scarlet burst, as well as destroy the Crest Stone beneath it.

Once that monster falls off The Immaculate One, she is able to shake off the rest with the help of debris coming down off the collapsing wall. A few Demonic Beasts fall into the chasm and disappear into its pitch-black depths.

She turns to Byleth and stands on her hind legs, long neck craned down so their gazes could meet. Despite this new form, Byleth could feel Rhea's presence in her elliptical pupils. They were undoubtedly one-in-the-same.

But instead of giving thanks, The Immaculate One's booming voice asks, "Why did you come?"

In that moment, Byleth's otherwise blank expression comes to life with a gasp of surprise. He knew what she was afraid of, and it seems they were both too late to stop it.

The Professor quickly looks back over his shoulder to find a band of cloaked figures suddenly standing out at the peak of a nearby hill. At the forefront was Thales, whose pale white eyes surrounded by ashy black paintbrush lines and occult earrings bearing the circular shape of the group's insignia were immediately recognizable.

It was the same man who prevented Byleth from saving his father from Kronya those months ago. There was no way he could forget that face.

Before he can make any moves against the dark figure, Byleth is struck by Thales' singular blast of thick purple energy. Rather than exploding, the orb instead catches on Byleth's armor and sends him flying through the air.

The Immaculate One moves to catch him, but is stopped by another wave of Demonic Beasts. All she can do is watch in whatever constitutes as terror on the face of a draconic entity as the blast sends Byleth careening into the mouth of the chasm.

It takes Byleth a moment to regain his faculties before he realizes that the ground underneath him was gone. The man plummets, at first silent as his voice catches in his throat. Then he screams, approaching terminal velocity fast as the world of light above him begins to blend into a fuzzy haze with the dark rocks of the surrounding cliffs.

It doesn't take long for his screams to be drowned out by the roaring winds that cut past his armor as he fell, and soon the sound mixed with the strain of gravity on his figure to become a completely overwhelming sensation. The Professor closes his eyes, waiting to feel nothing.

And then, everything goes dead quiet.

Yet… Byleth wasn't dead yet.

It was as if he was floating in an incubation chamber, and suddenly he could feel hands press against the chest plate of his armor.

"Sleep, Byleth."

The voice echoes in his ear, so quiet and ethereal that he wasn't sure if it was real.

When he opens his eyes he finds the light far above him completely blocked off by a silhouette of long, green hair. He couldn't see her face, but now he could place Sothis' voice.

"You have all of my powers, so you knew this was destined to be." Sothis sounds completely calm, her presence stifling the chaos of his descent. "Your time is yet to come, you will rejoin this fight."

"But…" Byleth barely manages to start before a lithe finger against his lips silences him.

"But nothing," Sothis says. "Sleep. You will be the end of all this in due time."

With that Byleth could feel his body shut down on him. His eyes flutter closed once more, and he's enveloped by the bleak shade of the canyon's depths.

* * *

As Garreg Mach burns in the distance, a rickety collective of wagons roll lazily down the long road to the Leicester Alliance.

In the back of one sits a girl with pink ponytails, legs curled to her chest as she watches the driver, and another with short blue hair who stares out onto the rising red plumage and the dark clouds it casts.

"I can't believe it had to end like this," Hilda manages with a hoarse voice before they hit a rough bump in the road, causing her relic weapon to jostle against the floor.

Marianne is silent, and Hilda only waits a moment for a possible response before continuing.

"Edelgard… Who would've guessed she was such a menace. Can't believe I gave that girl a hairpin." She brings a slight smile to her face before glancing over at Marianne. "I hope she pricks herself with it now, if she hasn't just thrown it away."

The other girl continues to say nothing as she burns the image of the flames into her retinas.

Hilda sighs and reaches out, resting a hand on her friend's side.

"You're going to kill your neck doing that, Marianne."

When the blue-haired girl finally looks to Hilda, she gestures for her come over.

Marianne relents and flops back onto her rear so the girls can snuggle in. Hilda starts to look over some of the lightly bleeding scars that sullied Marianne's outfit as the quiet girl closes her eyes.

"Did you see Dimitri out there?" Hilda ventures, not quite as oblivious to Marianne's circle of close companions as she hoped the fellow noble would be. "I never would have imagined him capable of such strength. Or anger, for that matter."

The cleric sniffles back whatever her throbbing heart wanted to say and shakes her head.

"I've known him to be capable of it from the start," she remarks sadly.

Hilda looks surprised, but Marianne keeps on.

"But I know he's capable of so much better too."

* * *

_In Imperial Year 1181, the new Adrestian emperor, Edelgard von Hresvelg, led a strategic assault against the monastery at Garreg Moch. Though her own losses were great, her foes had no choice but to surrender. _

_Archbishop Rhea commanded the Knights of Seiros, leading from the front lines against the Imperial army. But amidst the chaos of battle, she vanished, and her whereabouts remain unknown._

_With this single attack, the Adrestian Empire officially launched its offensive against the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus and the Leicester Alliance. The unification of Fódlan has begun._


	33. Update Time (Author's Note)

_Hey everyone, _

_I know it's been radio silence for a few weeks so I wanted to give a general update._

_The long and short of it is, this story isn't going anywhere. I have pretty much the entire arc of post-timeskip shenanigans mapped out and just need to write the damn thing. However I haven't had much time or motivation with all of the craziness regarding the coronavirus, and my actual paying freelance work has been keeping me pretty busy with larger assignments._

_Jumping into that dour wartime content just doesn't feel right at the moment._

_I might still post a couple lighthearted one-shots if I find the time, but for right now I'm going to put the next chapter of this particular story on hiatus. Not so much an indefinite hiatus like my Pokemon World Tournament piece, though. Just another week or two maybe, depending on how I feel._

_Thanks so much for sticking with me for the first half of the story, it still blows my mind how much this has blown up compared to... Well anything else I've done here thus far._

_Stay safe, and I hope you find some good stuff to read!_

_\- Jason_


	34. Update to the Update (Author's Note)

_Hello again my hopefully safe and healthy friends,_

_I figured some people might be getting antsy, so it would be worth putting out an update on the last update. Can't believe it's gotten to the point where I'm **that** kind of fanfiction writer I once thought was only the stuff of stories and legends, but here we are._

_To make another long-ish story short, about three or four days after I put out that last update I actually wound up getting a promotion at the video game news site I've been working at, Game Rant. That threw a much more hefty quota of stories I had to hit per-month onto my plate, and as a result much of April has been dedicated to me getting used to a new work schedule. It's not super easy to go from casual freelance work back into multiple hours of writing and editing a day, especially when all of it is being done from the eternal prison that my house has become during all this coronavirus pandemic goodness._

_But even so, I thought it was worth at least coming around to let y'all know that I'm pretty much past the point of not wanting to write stuff here. I put out a more 'fun' piece not long ago called "Battle of the Beaters" based on Pokemon Masters, and just yesterday I published a feature for Game Rant about how Link should be able to date people in the Breath of the Wild sequel. Yes, a not-so-subtle plug, but I do get paid extra by the click so I figure it's worth putting it out there for anyone who might be interested in searching that out._

_That said, the TL;DR you should take out of this whole babbling session is that **time willing** I would like to start up this story again next week. _

_I don't know that I can promise I'll be on that weekly new chapter grind that I was able to keep up when I was unemployed, but I love this story and I know a lot of you do too. There are some fun moments I have planned out that I'd like to see come to the page eventually. I'll be aiming to try and have at least one chapter every other week or so, just don't crucify me if I have to be a little more flaky to keep my real-world endeavors from falling apart._

_These little update posts will probably stick around just so I can have some kind of written account of when the world fell apart, as silly as they may be, so just consider it like an interlude before getting into the good stuff if you're reading this 30 years from now when it doesn't matter anymore._

_Thank you guys so much for being patient. I know there's been continual traffic since I stopped writing, so also thanks to all the newcomers who managed to dig this thing out of the trash bin of history. The story's on the cusp of hitting 30,000 views, and that's just wild to me._

_Look forward to more soon. Please, be safe and find fun things to read!_

_\- Jason_


	35. From the Abyss

_**Feels good to be back.**_

_** Just as a very, very brief Author's Note, I wanted to give credit to the story "One Shot (For Now) With My Bow" by NashvilleKanons [ID: 13053573] for giving me some inspiration on blocking the first part of this scene. Though most of that story then becomes NSFW rather quickly, so fair warning.**_

_**Also apologies for the later upload today, had some technical difficulties working out discussions with StJames1 [ID: 6729713] who it looks like is gunna be helping me out with some beta reading! I always appreciate an extra perspective, and so far he's already given me interesting things to think about with just this first chapter. Sorry I can't include the period in your name 'cause of this website's weird linking rules.**_

* * *

**Part 2 — Ethereal Moon**

_Byleth slumbered in the abyss for nearly five years._

_During that time Edelgard von Hresvelg's former pseudonym as the Flame Emperor became a true moniker as the fiery war her rise to power stoked clouded the entire continent of Fódlan in chaos and misery. _

_The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus is in shambles as an Imperial loyalist named Cornelia uses power obtained through a coup to keep the capital under an iron fist and subdue the same revolts that spring up in eastern territories amid the absence of their one true heir. The Leicester Alliance is fractured as some of its leaders choose to side with the Empress while others seek the end of her tyrannical reign. The Adrestian Empire levees its forces on all fronts with hopes of completely unifying the war-torn continent._

_In the year 1185, around the eve of the fall of Garreg Mach, the one who embodies the Goddess awakens in a small farming village at the base of the monastery. Hearing that his old stomping grounds have been abandoned for a good many years, Byleth makes his way back in the hopes that his students would hold true to their promise of returning for what would have been the impending Millennium Festival._

* * *

The opulence that once characterized Garreg Mach Monastery was naught but a memory as Byleth wanders the abandoned, dingy and dilapidated halls of buildings that — to him — were bustling with masses preparing for battle just the afternoon prior. Scattered about the crumbled infrastructure that coated the floors were bodies wrapped in dark, meager attire. Some still carried the spoils of their attempted pillaging around their waists. One man practically lay on a bed of gold as the bag of coins he had been carrying burst apart from the same gash that nearly severed his chest in twain.

At the base of a tower near one of the far corners of the desolate grounds, Byleth comes across a curious sight: Fresh blood still melting into the moss covering the cement between bricks as it slowly dribbles down. A body sprawled half out the entryway, donned in the red-highlighted armored garb of the Adrestian Empire. The words of the farmer whom had awoken Byleth by the riverbank came to mind. Imperial troops had recently come to investigate and were slaughtered. Every last one.

Immediately Byleth knew who had slaughtered them. Yet every fiber of his being told him to turn around and walk away, to avoid the truth that made his head spin.

He carries on and enters the tower, careful not to disrespect the dead by trampling on his corpse. That courtesy became difficult to adhere to as he found the interior piled with bodies, all abuzz with flies and emanating the stench of death.

As he ascends the echoing steps of the tower, Byleth pays attention to each and every body he passes; many recently deceased. Some were brutalized to the point that Byleth's stomach churned just trying to discern what the mangled flesh he looked upon could have once been. It was like an animal had paralyzed everyone it came across, giving them no chance to fight back before being ruthlessly torn asunder.

When he reaches the more spacious room at the apex of the tower, the stench mostly dissipates through the open doorways looking out upon the near-bottomless chasms of the mountain range surrounding the outer edges of the monastery. Though his face doesn't budge an inch, Byleth was glad he could breath normally again. He turns his gaze skyward to find some sunlight streaming down from a haphazard hole in the ceiling, illuminating the center of what was otherwise a near pitch-black chamber.

When he follows the light back down toward the far wall, his breath catches in his throat as he finds another living person sitting flush against the stone. Time stood still as Byleth takes him in and finally comes to the crushing realization that everything — his five-year disappearance and the sorry state of Fódlan — was true.

"Dimitri?"

The Professor's voice is hoarse as he struggles to get the word out, but the enclosed chamber echoes the slight sound into a cacophony that makes the blond warrior flinch into himself and clutch the immense spear in his right hand.

Dimitri looks up, and the sun serendipitously dips down to such a degree that it illuminates his dirt-and-blood-spackled face.

Where once Byleth knew a boy relentlessly caught between the youthful charisma of a noble in his prime and some unspoken pain, now he saw the glare of a chiseled expression from someone whose forced maturity left him wandering a dark mental abyss. His features were framed by unruly, long hair that was matted with filth and barely exposed his dulled blue left eye. The right was completely obscured by an eyepatch.

Byleth slowly approaches his former student, each step squishing as he trails bloody footsteps from the pile-on in the stairs. As soon as the green-haired man steps into the light Dimitri winces, caught right in the glare off of Byleth's shining black armor.

He stops, expecting Dimitri to react. Expecting him to say something. Anything.

But Dimitri continues to stare, as if looking right through Byleth. So the Professor approaches again, and when he's close enough offers the blond Prince a hand.

Dimitri turns from the gesture, cowering into the blue-and-black coat that Byleth remembered once dwarfed him and Edelgard during the chilliest winter months. Now, even though Dimitri was sitting, Byleth could tell it fit his burly frame perfectly.

"I should've known…" Dimitri remarks, gravelly voice grating against his throat.

Byleth tilts his head slightly, curious.

"That one day… You would be haunting me as well."

Suddenly Dimitri throws his arm out, swatting Byleth's hand away. The Professor takes a step back, giving Dimitri enough room to stand up on his own using the lance as a crutch. Once he was on his feet the weapon no longer looked quite as immense, as Dimitri had grown to tower over his former mentor. He was always a tall, gangly boy, which added to his overall charisma and appeal. But now all Byleth saw when he looked upon him was the somewhat hunched posture of a storybook ogre.

"What must I do to be rid of you?" Dimitri asks with a venomous hiss as he pounds the base of his weapon against the ground. "I will kill that woman, I swear it. Do not look upon me with scorn in your eyes."

At the mention of 'scorn' Byleth's gaze soften as he tries to look up into Dimitri's good eye. He gets a brief glimpse at the dark ring underscoring it before Dimitri flinches.

Byleth has no idea what to say. It seemed like Dimitri wasn't really talking to him so much as he was talking toward him. But words came from deep in his core:

"Everything will be okay," Byleth coos as he reaches out and rests the back of his fingers lightly against Dimitri's right cheek.

The Prince gasps and stands silently, as if he had forgotten how to breathe. Then he clasps his free hand around Byleth's. The metal of their gloves clink with such aplomb that Byleth was sure Dimitri would have broken each of his bones were they not covered.

"You… It can't be!" Dimitri exclaims. "You're alive?!"

Byleth nods.

All this time Dimitri had been convinced he was looking upon a ghost. Though Byleth would not have blamed him — his pale skin and green hair did give off an ethereal quality. He was happy to see some of his former student's faculties returned.

"If that is the case…"

Suddenly Dimitri's expression curdles, and Byleth could hear his voice distorting.

"That can only mean you are an Imperial spy. Did you come here to kill me?"

Byleth's expression ticks ever so slightly into a concerned frown.

"Answer the question!" Dimitri demands, stepping into the light with his lance at the ready. The Prince wore intense, jagged black armor that was covered in nicks and dents, as well as a few cuts that revealed cerulean metal underneath. Byleth found it hard to tell whether the garb was fashioned black or if it had rusted from years of splattered dirt and blood that accumulated with nary a desire to clean or polish.

"Of course not," Byleth reassures with a firmer tone and an unflinching stance.

Dimitri stares, his eye wildly wavering in its socket but never escaping Byleth's gravitational pull.

Eventually he manages to close his eye, duck his head slightly and grunt while bringing his free hand up to cover his forehead. The conflict in Dimitri's scrambled mind was so blatant it was practically audible in the otherwise silent tower.

The Prince pushes past Byleth and teeters toward the open door, motions jerky and unsteady to the point that he needed to use his lance like a cane just to make sure he didn't topple over. Byleth turns to follow him, and finds words once again at the tip of his tongue.

"I'm glad you're safe."

He had no idea what happened to Fódlan in the five years he had been gone, but Byleth knew whatever it was had been especially cruel to Dimitri. The Prince freezes up hearing those words and scoffs.

"Am I?"

He leaves, and Byleth takes a moment to recollect himself before following.

Dimitri hobbles his way back onto the main grounds of Garreg Mach Monastery, into territory Byleth recognizes from months of hard-wired routines. The greenhouse appeared mostly intact, but that was about the best he could say for the place. What was once a pond full of fish practically jumping at the opportunity to become that night's supper now only seemed to breed chunks of concrete and brick. The three classrooms for the Blue Lions, Golden Deer and Black Eagles were all boarded up, and some of the pillars holding up the stone awnings outside them had collapsed onto the now-weathered, yellow grass of a gathering space overgrown with weeds.

When they reach the bridge leading up to the crumbling Cathedral, Byleth finally speaks up. He tries to find out what Dimitri had been doing since the fall of Garreg Mach, but barely learns anything beyond Dimitri's self-proclaimed status as a walking corpse.

As they approach the closed entryway, Dimitri shoves the massive twin doors open as though they were curtains and continues inside without missing a step.

There were a million tiny blemishes in the Cathedral that Byleth could probably pick out if he really took the time to examine the space, but it all paled in comparison to the tragically collapsed ceiling at the far end of the chamber. He could still recall all those times Archbishop Rhea, or Flayn, or Ignatz, or Marianne, or half a dozen others stood beneath the great glass mural to give prayer. Now it was impossible, as a mountain of rubble and brick filled nearly half the structure.

"There are more important matters at hand," Dimitri hisses as he walks toward the rubble, voice rebounding throughout the giant room.

Byleth slinks after him, which Dimitri seems to take as permission to continue. He glances ever so slightly back to give Byleth the impression he was being addressed.

"Do you not smell them? Filthy rats. Everywhere." His sour tone fluctuates to a pained whimper. "And traces of those who were here long ago." Then, just as suddenly, into a sickened spit. "And thieves, crawling from the woodwork, attracted by the promise of treasure."

Once he reaches the edge of the rubble, Dimitri turns to face Byleth. The Professor stops his stride under the one-eyed scrutiny.

"Since the Monastery fell, order in the area fell right along with it. You must have seen the state of the town near Garreg Mach on your way here."

Like a funeral procession had just passed through and left its emaciated cargo behind to catch trout from a mucky river.

"Vile thieves run rampant. They pillage and loot to their heart's content." He squints, and Byleth could feel evil pierce his heart.

"I must kill them. Every last one."

Dimitri starts to return to the entrance just as soon as they had arrived, and Byleth steps aside while brushing some of the green hair from his eyes.

"What do you plan to do?" He asks, too curious to let his apprehension stop him.

"I told you," Dimitri says without stopping. He sounds as if offering to do something as menial as washing dishes. "I will kill them all."

"We don't have to kill them to stop them," Byleth retorts as he begins to follow in Dimitri's footsteps once again. "Even thieves are just trying to survive, and I…"

"They must die."

Dimitri's interruption was final.

"Someone must put a stop to this cycle of the strong trampling the weak." The words cut through Byleth and bring him to a halt. "Or do you condone their actions? Do you believe that the pillaging and slaughtering those rats live for is justified?!"

Byleth stands still, staring at Dimitri's back as his voice becomes louder and more maniacal the further he walks.

"It is reprehensible, and they must be put down! I intend to give them a taste of the pain they have inflicted on others. Even if it means becoming a rat myself, I swore to at least do that much."

He stops and goes silent. Byleth tilts his head.

Then Dimitri continues, muttering to himself. "I will not let them down…"

It was hard to deny that Dimitri was not in the best of mental states — to say the least. Yet… Byleth could hear his steadfast convictions outlining that crazed logic. The undying desire to protect those he cared most about; the drive to bring peace and equality to the world by snuffing out the evils at its black heart; the exact kind of truly chivalrous, loving character that helped Byleth fall for Dimitri and his motley band of noble and common friends all those years ago.

If that was still there deep down, Byleth knew he had to stay by Dimitri's side. He had to help, for Dimitri's sake.

Byleth approaches the former Blue Lions' head. "How many thieves are there?"


	36. Reunion at Dawn — Part 1

As the jagged points at the end of each separated segment of the Sword of the Creator latches into a loose stone pillar, Byleth throws his right hand across his body with a fervent cry. The decrepit support cracks as the scarlet-glowing whip contracts and pulls the bisected upper portion along with it. Like a tree felled by an axe, the pillar creaks as it slowly tips over an open pathway before it collapses with a ground-shaking rattle and a puff of ancient dust. Three ex-militiamen who had been approaching scatter from the architectural carnage to avoid the flying loose chunks of brick and rotted banner cloth.

Byleth moves the sword back to his dominant side and its blade retracts, each segment clicking together until it forms a fully-fledged weapon atop the bony hilt again. He looks down the opposite fork of the path he just blocked to watch Dimitri work through a handful of raggedy-clothed men. He had hoped to make sure the Prince wasn't overwhelmed from both sides, but the more he saw Dimitri fight the more he was convinced it was actually his foes whom he had saved from a grizzly fate.

The duo had tracked down a gang of bandits to the ruins of a small village on the outskirts of Garreg Mach Monastery. Years of looting and neglect left just a handful of dilapidated buildings standing between the crumbling walls of a larger fortification like strips of leathery skin clinging to a carcass. Only one structure still stood out: A raised castle toward the center with staircases leading up to its core from all four cardinal directions. The "nest," as Dimitri had called it.

He immediately ran out of Byleth's sphere of influence once they arrived, storming a courtyard at the base of the western staircase. The element of surprise made it easy enough for the Prince to reach the band of guards stationed there, his pitch-black armor blending into the dimly lit ruins as he ran like a panther and pounced. However, once Dimitri killed his first target the whole area was put on alert.

A handful of brutalized bodies lay in Dimitri's wake, but the energy of his initial assault had faded as more rogues came down from the castle to join their comrades in battle with the beastly Prince. Byleth was trying to keep more reinforcements at bay by closing off access from different streets and alleyways throughout the western part of the ruins, but even with the Hero's Relic he could tell their options were limited as the sounds of echoing boots in the empty surroundings encroached.

Dimitri was currently dealing with six enemies on his own, but Byleth could tell he was able to handle that much. It was more than evident as Dimitri chucked his lance clean through the neck of one man before grabbing the shaft of another from a man who thought he could use the moment to his advantage.

If only his aim had been that effective with Edelgard that night in the tomb, Byleth thought to himself.

There was no time for that kind of meaningless hindsight, though.

As Byleth retreats back into a four-way intersection of major roads, he finds a man and a woman in obscuring helmets approaching from the south. The instructor hardly finishes blinking twice before they were both cast aside by a crack of his barbed whip from afar. Their cries and collapsing bodies draw the attention of others. Three… Four… Seven maybe, it was hard to tell as rebounding footsteps meld with the cackling of low-burning torches strung up around crumbling walls at each corner of the intersection.

Another soldier runs into sight from the south, pauses to look at his fallen comrades, and then slowly shuffles toward Byleth with his sword and shield up. Byleth cracks his whip once, and it's blocked by the cautious foe. He starts to back away at the same pace as the other man approaches, moving the hilt of the Hero's Relic back and forth in the air to try and find an opening. The approaching man follows each motion.

Suddenly the ground shakes, knocking both men off-kilter. A fiery-orange glow flowers somewhere off in the distance, projecting life onto small collection of walls behind the approaching enemy.

As soon as the man briefly glances toward the light over his shoulder, Byleth strikes him down with a red-hot lash. He grimaces while drawing the weapon back, trying to decide whether the already faded flash came from a sorcerer or a massive weapon. Either way, he and Dimitri would no doubt be overwhelmed if these bandits were packing anything stronger than a battleax.

"Face me and die, bastard!"

The gruff voice from behind Byleth pulls him out of his own head. As he whirls around, coat billowing with the motion, he finds a spearman already closer than he would have liked. There was no time to rear back for another distant strike without taking a blow to the heart, so instead Byleth raises his whole blade before his sternum. He buckles his knees and squints, watching for an opening as the spearmen shout while he charges.

Then, without warning, an arrow pierces the back of the man's head and he tumbles lifeless to the floor.

Byleth's eyes widen, but he only allows himself a second to be surprised before he runs to the northwest wall of the intersection. He backs flush against the cool stone and closes his eyes. He steadies his breathing while resting the back of his head against the wall, trying to listen for any signs of the assaulting archer.

"There's no use hiding you know," another voice calls out.

It was… Familiar. But Byleth wasn't entirely sure why until it got louder as the man approached.

"You'd be remiss to think I can't just curve a shot and hit you behind that cover."

The green-haired man opens his eyes, takes a deep breath, and then steps out into the intersection with his hands held up.

The archer standing at the northern entrance raises his nocked bow at Byleth when he came into view, but he quickly loses that conviction and lets the bowstring go limp as the weapon droops toward the floor. Byleth wasn't sure from the voice — it was deeper than he remembered. Yet his grey hair and green eyes were undeniable.

"Professor?" Ashe whispers, the air pulled from his chest.

Byleth smiles at his old student and nods once.

Five years had been kind to Ashe. His once scrawny form had built up into a respectable lank, and that scruffy grey hair now fell in smooth, gentle cascades down around his eyes, and the spattering of freckles around his nose was still apparent even in the low light. Just when Byleth was beginning to find it hard to believe he was staring at the same boy, a sunny and childlike grin breaks through that matured demeanor before Ashe runs up to tackle Byleth in a tight hug.

Yeah, it was Ashe.

"We… We thought you were dead," Ashe mutters into Byleth's chest as he hooks his bow around the Professor's back.

"Greatly exaggerated." Byleth scoffs in return. He hugs the slight boy back.

As Ashe pulls away and bores those puppy dog eyes into Byleth's soul, he shutters with excitement.

"Gosh. Just wait until Gilbert gets a look at you. It's like you haven't aged a day… He'll be jealous."

He laughs softly, but Byleth raises a curious eyebrow in return.

"Gilbert is here?"

Ashe perks up again.

"Right!" He clears his throat shakes out his hair, reconstituting his serious look. "He's been leading us for some time now. We heard rumor that His Highness—"

After a pause, Ashe leans in expectedly and almost snaps his bow in half from clenching it so hard.

"If you're here, does that mean…?"

"Dimitri?" Byleth questions. Ashe nods eagerly. "Yes, he's here. Though he might not be what you're expecting."

"How so?"

Byleth thinks on how best to respond to that for a moment before simply gesturing for Ashe to follow.

They head a block or two further into the ruins to find Dimitri still sparring with his opponents. Something told Byleth he should have taken care of them by now and was holding back, just playing with his food. However, soon after they took a position to spy on the battle Dimitri kicks one of the bandits to the floor, raises his lance high, and swiftly brings it down. Ashe looks away, but Byleth watches as the head bursts like a ripened melon and sprays Dimitri's face with blood.

The grey-haired archer swallows back and coughs.

"Wow," he mutters.

"You should have seen him run along the side of a wall earlier just to pin someone down."

"I always knew he was strong, but never quite so… Calloused."

Byleth rests a hand on the maroon plate adorning Ashe's shoulder and draws his eyes back up.

"If Gilbert is here, go tell him to amass your forces in the castle up there." Byleth tilts his head slightly toward the courtyard where the Prince fought. "It's where the bandit leader is hiding, and Dimitri won't rest until they're dead."

Ashe nods and quickly bounces up to his feet. By the time Byleth slowly stands to join him, the archer had already bounded a few steps away.

However, he stops and looks back with a smile.

"It's good to take orders from you again, Professor."

If Byleth had a beating heart, it probably would have skipped one.

"Ah, also." Ashe completely turns to face Byleth and points southward with a warm smile. "If you head that way, there should be a few others you might like to see."

Byleth nods, and with that Ashe is gone back into the maze of decrepit buildings and fortified walls.

He checks to make sure Dimitri was still okay — he struggled to remove his weapon from one man's cartilage, but was not overwhelmed — before heading off in the direction Ashe recommended.

There was another small courtyard along the outer wall of the ruined town right around where he caught sight of that fiery glow earlier. Standing in the middle of a charred circle on the ground, back turned to Byleth, was a woman with orange hair pooling around her neck and shoulders who was wearing a somewhat gaudy orange-and-blue outfit that stood out like a blazing sun in the dreary surroundings.

Byleth was barely three steps into the courtyard when a soft-spoken voice from the far corner of the gathering space calls out.

"Annie, watch out!"

The sunny woman's shoulders bristle up. Her heels pick up off the floor before she starts to levitate, which lets her quickly spin to face the green-haired man.

Her arms rise to her bosom, and her fingers curl like a cage around a swirling fireball conjured from thin air between her palms. The flickering light reflects off her outfit and bathes the surrounding area to make her truly shine like a star. Yet, all Byleth could focus on was the flame burning deeply in the recesses of her constricted pupils. He would recognize that determination anywhere.

Soon the magic fades away as Annette's shoulders slump slightly, but she continues to float there with a dumbstruck stare and gaping mouth.

"Are…"

She starts to pant, but clears her throat and licks her lips to try and speak at a normal clip again.

"Are you real?" She barely squeaks out.

"Of course he's real."

The second gentler voice comes from Mercedes, who rests her hands on Annette's shoulders from behind to help bring her back down to the ground. Unlike Ashe and Annette, she had dramatically cut her hair down since the last time Byleth saw her. That said everything else about her was more full, so to speak. Mercedes had been one of the oldest students in the Officers Academy, and if Byleth remembered his files right she must have been approaching 30 by now.

Every careful step she took, coupled with the priestly beige-and-black smock, made Mercedes exude a mature grace that was in one way hard to quantify, but in another way felt like exactly what he would have expected her to grow into those years ago.

"The Goddess is truly a benevolent soul, even after all this time."

The healer takes both Byleth's hands in her gentle grasp and raises them together like a bridge between their bodies. She smiles and cocks her head, causing her large blue earrings to jangle as the sheer veil hanging from the back of her cap flutters like a pair of angelic wings around her shoulder blades.

As soon as Mercedes lets him go, he's tackled into a hug by Annette — though somehow her attack was much stronger than Ashe's, despite her demure figure. Like the others she had grown, and the slight chub of her cheeks had all but given away to the slender facial structure of a beautiful young woman, but that hardworking energy hadn't faded a bit.

"Long time no see, Professor!" She cries up at him with a slightly weepy laugh, as her arms stay linked around his back. It was like she was afraid to let go. "I always knew in my heart that we'd meet again."

Byleth opens his mouth to respond, but gets cut off by Mercedes. He looks up to her, and Annette glances back.

"I'm so glad to see you're alive," she says with a slight bow, her hands folded politely at her waist. "Getting to see you and everyone else again makes having to leave my family feel less difficult, Professor."

As nice as the sentiment was, her remark cuts at Byleth's heart. He remains stone-faced, but imagines all the turmoil that must have befallen everyone's families as his former students were thrust into war.

Suddenly an awareness of his surroundings came flooding back. As sweet as this reunion was, and as much as he would have gladly let Annette squeeze the life out of him in any other circumstance, they were in the middle of a dreary, ruined battlefield — and practically on top of bodies the sorceress had burned to a crisp.

She clearly catches onto the change in demeanor and steps away from Byleth, clearing her throat.

"So?" She nervously stutters while she brushes off the front of her floor-length robe with her gloved hands. "What now?"

Byleth looks between the two women, who both seemed more than eager to take whatever instruction he still wanted to impart. Rather than give them an answer right away he turns back toward the center of town and runs a hand through his green hair.

"Where else did Gilbert send in reinforcements?"


	37. Reunion at Dawn — Part 2

Three rogues scatter down a hallway on the ground level of the dilapidated city north of its centerpiece castle, trying to avoid a circling shadow. A somewhat heftier man toward the back of the group stumbles and skids to a halt on his hands and knees. A whinny from on high cues the whooshing sound of a falling star, and in his haste to scramble back up he leaves his sword by the wayside.

The diving hooves of Ingrid's Pegasus through the open ceiling of the hall knock the lagging man down again before he can get far. Her armored white steed glides down that open runway, wingspan barely scratching the sides. As the animal passes over the two ragged-clothed men further ahead, Ingrid and Sylvain strike with their lances from either side. Ingrid tugs on the reins once the men are defeated, letting her Pegasus' hind legs brush against the stone floor before the beast trots to a stop and retracts its wings near the far end of the hallway.

As Ingrid flips her Hero's Relic around to slide it into the holster on her back with a sigh, Sylvain jumps down from the saddle behind her and grins up at the blonde girl.

"Just like old times, eh?" He laughs and smoothes out his windswept red hair.

Ingrid rolls her eyes in return and pets her partner's mane.

"What, like that time we got our butts kicked and life as we knew it literally fell apart?" Ingrid glares back at him over her shoulder; green eyes barely hiding as matching bows behind her ears hold back her short-cut hair. "I'd like to hope you're not so gauche that you remember that fondly Sylvain."

"The losing part? Not so much." Sylvain starts to mosey around to the front of her Pegasus, grey plate armor clanking as he drags the base of his lance along the floor. "But I did miss the wind blowing through my hair."

He turns on his heels, looking up to Ingrid and her steed with a wider grin. As he holds his lance like a cane, his other hand thumbs the hilt of a sword strapped to his thigh.

"I can't imagine that anyone who spends half as much time in front of a mirror as you would ever be okay with frizzy Pegasus hair," Ingrid scoffs as she leans in with a smile, wrapping her arms gently around her animal's neck.

"Hey. The hair only matters if I'm on a date." Sylvain throws his unkempt fiery locks back. "Being on the battlefield is the only time I'm ever not on a date."

"Well at least you recognize that," Ingrid mumbles through her teeth.

Their quiet moment is interrupted as one of the walls explodes behind Sylvain. A man flies through the ensuing cloud of dust and debris, bounces off the adjacent wall, and lands lifeless on the ground; broken and limp. Sylvain faces the action with his Lance of Ruin raised, and Ingrid draws Lúin with one hand as the other attempts to calm her Pegasus while it apprehensively swings its head back and forth.

They barely hear the sounds of footsteps over settling dirt and rock, but soon enough Annette runs out from the cloud with one arm covering her mouth and nose.

Eyebrow raised, Sylvain lowers his weapon as Ingrid shifts all focus to her Pegasus.

"Wow Annette, really giving us a scare here you know?"

The orange-haired girl keeps her arm over her face for a moment longer to cover the red blossoming on her cheeks, but brings it down so she can brush the dust off her outfit.

"Sorry! I must've hit the guy harder than I thought." Annette smoothly transitions from grooming herself to resting her hands on her hips. She huffs. "Either that or this whole place is way more decrepit than I'm giving it credit for."

"I'd be willing to wager both," Ingrid chimes in while offering their friend a greeting by proxy of a raised hand.

"Frankly the structural integrity of this ghost town bothers me less than the fact that you're over here," Sylvain remarks with an uncharacteristic frown as he crosses his arms. "Aren't you supposed to be posted down south with Mercedes? You didn't leave her to fend for herself, did you?"

Again Annette huffs, and this time she really puffs out her chest to try and appear more intimidating — as fruitless an endeavor as that may be.

"I wouldn't just leave Mercie by herself on a battlefield! Think you're forgetting who's the bestest best friend in the world here, lover boy."

Ingrid barely stifles back a chortle, which draws Sylvain's ire back toward her. The Pegasus Knight quickly pretends she's readjusting the green cape hanging down from the fuzzy collar around her neck.

Sylvain rolls his eyes and looks back to Annette.

"All I'm saying is it's irresponsible to leave a healer off on their own. Even one as capable as Mercedes."

"Well you'll be happy to know she isn't alone."

Suddenly Annette's gaze softens as she turns to face where the thick cloud of detritus once floated. "None of us are, actually."

Byleth and Mercedes enter the enclosed space, and the atmosphere thickens as Ingrid gasps.

"No way," Sylvain mutters as he rests a hand on his temple.

"Professor?" Ingrid scrambles to climb down from her Pegasus.

As Sylvain starts to approach Byleth, Mercedes steps aside and gestures toward the silent, stone-faced man like a showgirl with a pleasant smile. With his first look over the red-haired warrior, Byleth couldn't help but feel he had visibly changed the least of all his former students. The change from an open uniform jacket and semi-unbuttoned shirt to full plate armor did a lot to project maturity, but his stunned stare was near identical as far as Byleth was concerned.

Sylvain lays his right hand on Byleth's shoulder and starts to move his head around, taking in the other man from every angle he could. Byleth remains still and follows his gaze with just his pupils.

The red-haired man leans back and grins normally, squeezing Byleth's shoulder.

"Hey."

Byleth nods in return. Sylvain laughs heartily.

"You really had us going there, Professor." He finally steps back, giving Byleth some space. "If you gave it another year, I might've really believed you were dead."

"How are you not?" Ingrid hesitantly adds as she slinks up behind Sylvain.

Even though she tries her best to use Sylvain as a shield while looking over Byleth, the former instructor can see the battle going on in her eyes. She must have been happy to see him, but wasn't ready to let that overshadow her fear that it might all be a trick — that she might be hurt again.

Byleth closes his eyes. There was no real way to answer her question without divulging anything his team would not be ready to hear.

Luckily Annette was there to save him.

"Does it really matter Ingrid?" She saunters up and takes Byleth by the wrist, then holds it up in the air. "He's here, and so is Dimitri! We have a chance."

Ingrid is taken aback and holds a hand over her heart.

"Dimitri? Is he really here?"

Sylvain scoffs.

"Told you he was too stubborn to bite the dust, Ingrid."

As the Blue Lions talk among themselves, the portly rogue slowly gets to his feet and collects his sword again. He starts to run at them, seeing an opening in their distraction to get revenge against the blonde Pegasus Knight while her back was turned.

Byleth notices when he starts to get close and brushes Annette aside so he can draw the Sword of the Creator. As he does the former students in the crowd finally notice the assailant too.

However, before any of them get the chance to retaliate, the man abruptly stop as the sharp tip of a blade bursts through his chest and shreds the stringy tunic covering it. He gasps out a few times, sputtering blood in the process. Then the blade lifts him up onto his toes, and his breathing stops with one last whimper.

Once the blade retracts, the rogue collapses like a ragdoll. In his place, Felix stands with his sword dripping scarlet.

He wipes it off once before sliding it into the sheath attached to his hip.

"Are you all really this daft?" He says with spite.

As far as Byleth could tell, Felix was his old self; brought to extreme measures. Darker circles under his sharp, squinting eyes suggested a long pattern of sleeplessness over the last few years, and his hair was more messily pulled into a small ponytail than the carefully constructed bun he used to keep. Yet the precision of that strike and his overall demeanor told Byleth that Felix had not skipped a day of training over the past five years. Like his sword, he was sharper than ever.

"I'm surprised the whole Kingdom hasn't fallen apart yet if its best and brightest are so easily dulled by the reverie of a reunion."

That sharpness extended to his tongue too, it seemed.

Though Annette and Ingrid visibly shrink under the criticism, Mercedes seems nonplussed. Sylvain simply ruffles his own hair and shrugs.

"Personally I'm just happy to hear you think of us so highly," the red-haired man says with a chuckle.

Felix closes his eyes and puffs his aggression out through his nose.

"Of course that's all you'd take out of that." The raven-haired man turns on his heels, kicking up dust. "You'll still be a Margrave if we all get out of this alive and well, Sylvain. It'd do your people well if you didn't fall in battle."

The swordsman starts to walk away, prompting Annette to take a few steps toward him with an exacerbated expression.

"Um, Felix? Did you not see what's happening here?" She gestures at Byleth with wide, sweeping movements of her arms.

Felix stops and tips his head down.

"I noticed. We can catch up later." He slowly turns his head just enough to catch Byleth through his peripheral vision. "Though, it is a welcome surprise."

That's about all Felix offers before he confidently storms off into the night once more. Annette sighs and rests a hand on her hip as Sylvain turns back to the main group.

"Well, that's Felix." Sylvain shrugs. "What did you expect?"

"Trust me, it's good to see some things never change." Byleth smiles slightly. That little emote picks up everyone's mood around him.

"Now," the green-haired man continues. "Let's finish this shall we?"

Byleth brings his sword up and points out the battlements of the castle looming over the dilapidated hall.

"With these numbers, we'll be unstoppable."

The Blue Lions rally with a cry, and prepare to end the struggle here and now.


	38. Reunion at Dawn — Part 3

_**Apologies for the long delay on this one, folks. In case you missed the brief attempt at a message I sent out in the reviews of the last chapter, work has been grinding me down. Don't get me wrong, I'm enjoying it a lot, it just isn't leaving much time for me to write these more creative endeavors. Thanks for sticking by.**_

_** That being said, I'm not looking to abandon this horse just yet. Originally I was going to skip ahead after the last chapter, but Cosmic Sky [ID: 4306679] seemed interested in the end of the skirmish and I figured there was a narrative opportunity there, so here it is. The least I can offer after that break is a little bloodshed.**_

* * *

Sylvain sweeps his lance at the foot of a swordsman under the pale moonlight shining through gaps in the ceiling of the dilapidated castle. The soldier's knee buckles and he falls back, but he bats away Sylvain's bony relic weapon with his steel sword on the way down.

The redhead easily disables the other man by stomping on his stomach. However, before he can land a killing blow, an arrow punctures the side of his neck just below his jawline. Sylvain clutches the spurting wound around the shaft as he stumbles back a few steps and falls on his ass with a grunt. As the assaulting archer at the far end of the room prepares another arrow, he's struck between the eyes by Ashe, who has to dodge out of the way as a second archer in-line fires off a shot at him.

"Sylvain!"

Ashe looks to his downed companion while nocking another arrow. All he gets a halfhearted wave by Sylvain's not-occupied hand as the future Margrave leans back against the wall.

"Mercie, we need you up here now!" Annette calls over her shoulder and out of the entrance to the castle. The petite mage lobs a sharp gust of wind toward the archers at the far end of the room that blows her long hair back into her face.

That attack sends one of the long-ranged fighters flying into the far wall, knocking him out cold. The leader of the bandits, a merchant who frequented Garrag Mach in the before times who some of the Blue Lions recognized as Pallardó, skittishly jumps away from his subordinate's body as it limply falls to the floor. He throws out his hand, and two swordsmen he had as guards begin to rush down Ashe.

The lithe grey-haired boy quickly pulls his bow up to fire a projectile at one of the approaching guards, who does half a backflip from the impact against his upper body and cracks his head open on the descent.

His partner is taken aback and slows to a halt, just long enough for Ashe to run out of the line of attack toward Sylvain. He ducks and covers his head while passing in front of Annette, who was trading more magic for arrows against one of the two remaining archers at Pallardó's side. The rogue she hits lets loose a wayward projectile that falls barely halfway to its destination.

As Ashe approaches Sylvain he slides on his knees to cover the last few inches so he can immediately start tending to the wound.

He rests one hand on Sylvain's shoulder as the other grasps the arrow that bobbed each time he inhaled.

"Don't worry, Sylvain. I've done this before."

After a shaking breath, he steadies his grip. "Once or twice..."

In one swift motion, Ashe pulls the arrow free and tosses it aside. Sylvain thrashes at first and cries out while trying to put a stop to the heavier flow of blood coming from his neck. Ashe grabs some cloth from a pouch attached to the same belt as his quiver and has Sylvain help him try to apply more pressure to the wound.

That second swordsman guard who was originally aiming to take on Ashe instead focuses his attention on Annette. The girl gasps at his war cry and floats back to prepare another gust of wind, the magic bathing her blue-and-orange dress an iridescent teal.

"Stand back, Annette."

Gilbert pushes past the mage so he can shield her, and takes down the assailant in one fell swoop of his axe. In the process, he knocks her arms asunder and disrupts the magic she had begun channeling.

Annette looks less than pleased.

"Father…" She mumbles.

The old knight had been accompanying Mercedes up the stairs, but she rushed to Sylvain's side while Gilbert took the opportunity to protect his daughter.

She drops to her knees beside Ashe, and gestures for him to step aside. The archer does as he's told, letting the bloodied rag drop to the floor as he stands.

"Don't worry," Mercedes coos. "I've got you."

Sylvain glances at her with a strained groan. "Thanks."

He winces as he drops his hand away from his neck. It hovers just above the floor with crimson running through each finger and dripping down in haphazard splotches. Mercedes crosses both hands over his wound, and they shine with a sage-green luminescence.

The final archer beside the bandit leader tries to fire at Gilbert, but he's easily able to guard the attack with ease using his tower-shield.

Ashe fruitlessly tries to shake some of Sylvain's blood of his hand before taking up his bow again so he can return fire on the lone archer. The distant assailant is easily able to dodge the attack, but is pushed more into the center of the room by Pallardó. He trades blows with Ashe, who tries to inch his way closer for more of an accurate shot.

While keeping his attention trained on the distant archer, who had to split his time between the silver-haired boy and the pair of orange-haired fighters by the entrance, the swordsman whom Sylvain knocked down earlier grabs Ashe by the ankle. He pulls the surprised boy's leg and sends him tumbling to the floor as well. He gains leverage over Ashe and holds back his bow-wielding arm while raising a blade.

"Ashe!" Annette cries.

Before the mage can take the initiative, Mercedes throws her right arm out toward the swordsman pinning Ashe and blinds him with a flash of holy magic, giving Gilbert the opportunity to shuffle over and drive his axe into the rogue's back. That strike loosens the man's grip, allowing Ashe to bash him in the head with the curve of his bow. He's able to push the man off, where he dies quietly beside them.

During that commotion, the lone archer takes aim at Annette and prepares to strike. Before he can, he's caught in an avalanche of old brick and rotted support beams as a chunk of the ceiling collapses under the diving weight of Ingrid's Pegasus.

The winged beast lands on the pile of rubble, and Ingrid looks to the rest of the Blue Lions.

"I hope we weren't too late," she remarks with haggard breaths.

She smiles at the mostly happy reactions she gets back, but Felix is nigh emotionless as he jumps off the saddle from behind her.

"That Dimitri," he scoffs. "He's got the strength of a hundred men, and the constitution of a tablecloth. He would have been at those bandits' throats for hours if we let him."

Sylvain coughs, drawing everyone's attention.

"Is he really that bad?" Sylvain strains voice to say, after which he groans and arcs his back in pain.

"Sylvain please, don't talk." Mercedes gently commands. She focuses both hands over his wound again, and the warm aura surrounding it expands.

"I can't imagine that's a very easy task," Ingrid says with a half-smile.

Ashe snorts back a chuckle, but Felix simply looks up at the girl on her horse with a raised eyebrow.

"Is now really the most appropriate time to joke about that, Ingrid?"

She leans in for a quick haughty response, but just as quickly pulls back and looks away with a huff.

"You would have said it if I didn't."

He shrugs. "And I'm just enough of an asshole to pull it off."

The bitter pointedness of the cuss that he emphasizes draws a frown from the Pegasus Knight.

"Felix, I—"

Before she's able to get much farther, the whole group goes silent as Dimitri seemingly announces his entrance alongside Byleth by aggressively stamping the butt of his lance at the floor of the entryway so he can help pull himself inside.

"The task at hand is not finished," he grumbles through the shaded curtain of messy blonde hair that covers his face.

Byleth keeps his blank stare as he looks to his companion. Ingrid scans around for some signs of a threat, but with no luck she tilts her head to the side.

"What do you mean, Your Highness?"

Without warning, the haggard Prince stampedes ahead like a whole new man, past his former friends and allies. They all watch as Dimitri flicks his lance out to the side like the grim reaper would his scythe, and then drives it forward as he approaches the back wall. Dimitri skewers Pallardó through the stomach, eschewing his attempts to sneak away from the battle quietly.

The pale-skinned thief sputters blood down his front, drenching even parts of his sideburns as he writhes in pain from the fatal wound. The Prince is completely still as he glares down at his prey through the hair in his face. Ashe and Ingrid look away from the grisly scene, but Annette watches with horror, covering her mouth with both hands, as he practically tortures the man by letting him struggle for so long. Gilbert watches on almost unfazed by Mercedes' side as she continues tending to Sylvain, and Felix merely crosses his arms with closed eyes.

After a moment of just watching Pallardó claw at the shaft of his lance, longing for some relief, Dimitri reaches out and grabs the bandit leader by the hair. He forces the man to look up at his cold gaze, and terror overtakes his pained struggling.

"How befitting a rat," Dimitri begins with a slow, calculated whisper. "To drown in his own blood. May it wash away your sins."

Pallardó pulls in a raspy breath. More viscous blood spills over his lower lip from the pooling fluid in his jaw. Then his head slumps forward, and all is silent.

Gilbert and Byleth approach the Prince as he tears his weapon from the body with an echoing crunch that leaves it limp enough to fall to the floor.

"That seemed too easy, wouldn't you say?" Gilbert says to the Professor.

Byleth nods. He keeps one hand trained on the hilt of his sword and looks back over his shoulder.

"Ingrid." She jerks to attention from the back of her Pegasus. "Search around the outside of the castle, see if there are any lingering bandits."

"Be back soon," she responds before rearing her steed back. She then has the beast gallop ahead just enough to pick up momentum so she can fly and circle back around out of the hole in the ceiling.

The two former Garreg Mach instructors stand behind Dimitri. He keeps his attention on Pallardó's body and breathes heavily, letting his lance drip into a pool of blood.

"So uncivilized," Gilbert says. "Honestly, what would Dedue say if he saw you throw yourself around the battlefield so recklessly?"

Suddenly, the statuesque Prince whips his head around with a deathly glare that sends chills down Byleth's spine. He subtly tightens his grip on the Sword of the Creator.

Dimitri whirls around with a hefty step and quickly closes the gap between himself and Gilbert. Byleth hops aside and draws his weapon as Dimitri grabs Gilbert by the collar and holds him up. Even with Gilbert's bulky armor, Dimitri's strength is enough to lift him onto his toes, which leaves the greying older man wide-eyed.

"Don't you dare say his name in vain!" Dimitri spits, his cheeks running red with rage.

Felix, Ashe, and Annette start to run over, by Byleth cautions them back with a raised hand. While Dimitri keeps panting rapid breaths through gritted teeth, Gilbert simply stays calm and quiet until the tension starts to die.

"My apologies, Your Highness. I spoke out of line."

Dimitri's breathing slows, and soon enough he drops the knight. However, he remains right up in the older man's face.

They remain in this stalemate until Ashe finally breaks the silence, taking another meager step forward.

"What happened to Dedue?" He asks weakly, his gut already keenly aware.

The blond Prince takes a few steps back so he can offer a glance in Ashe's direction. All the rage he exhibited just moments ago had siphoned away alongside the color in his face, and his pupil shakes rapidly in its eye socket.

Byleth slowly sheathes his sword again, and the rest of the Blue Lions take that as a cue to come and circle around Dimitri — himself all but unaware of the attention as he stared off into the middle distance.

"Dimitri?" Annette mumbles through dry lips.

His shocked expression melts into utter despair, and his mouth hangs open as he dry heaves on the spot. The lance falls to the floor as his arms quake. It was as though the entire world had just disintegrated before his eye.

"No…" He whimpers.

Annette looks to Ashe, and they share a brief, silent confusion.

"No?" She mimics.

Then Dimitri turns away from the crowd, letting his cape sweep around as he stares at the wall beside Pallardó's body.

"Don't look at me like that!" He screams; gravelly voice replaced with a shrill tone that sounded on the verge of tears. "Can't you see this is all for you? And you too, Glenn?"

This time it was Felix's turn to perk up.

"Glenn?"

Dimitri doesn't respond. All of that terrified energy evaporates, and the Prince falls to his knees, clutching his head with both hands.

"F-Father…" He mumbles. "Stepmother…"

Byleth looks across the room at his students, all of whom look concerned, sickened, or some combination of the two. He approaches Dimitri and kneels beside him, resting a hand on the young man's back.

"It's okay, Dimitri." Byleth says. "Snap out of it."

Meanwhile, Gilbert turns to find Annette hiding in Ashe's arms, muttering about Dedue, as Felix acts unbemused beside them.

"It seems this may not be as easy as we'd hoped," the elder knight laments.


	39. Missed Opportunities

**Part 2 — Ethereal Moon**

_After Pallardó was defeated, the Blue Lions discovered the man Dimitri killed was a decoy. Even with the Prince of Faerghus out of commission, the true bandit leader was easy to track and defeat, freeing the outskirt village from its occupation._

_With his former students and the remnants of the Church of Seiros in tow, Byleth returned to Garreg Mach Monastery. The small army quickly takes back the abandoned space and repopulates its decrepit halls, with the Blue Lions staking claims in their old dormitories. All but Dimitri, who continues to linger in the Grand Cathedral like a ghost, rarely making his way outside and even more rarely acknowledging the presence of anyone but the voices in his mind._

_Though the Prince remains ignorant to the rebirth of Garreg Mach, word of its use as a base for the resistance carries on the wind to all three corners of Fódlan._

* * *

"So, what should we do with His Highness?"

Byleth looks to Gilbert with the slightest bit of dismay, evidenced by his lower eyelids tightening up.

"You ask like he can't hear you." His voice is deadpan.

"I know he can," Gilbert responds as he closes his eyes and ducks his head. "And yet, he's been catatonic for days. Who knows what he truly hears."

The Professor slowly turns his attention back to Dimitri. He would have blended seamlessly into the mountain of debris he stood before, like a broken statue in perpetual prayer, without the occasional breath raising his chest. Even standing at one of the ruined cathedral's pews a fair distance back, Byleth could smell the unwashed musk of battle coming off the Prince from their mission nearly a week prior, though he was certain that had only compounded upon the multiple years worth of sweat and viscera matted down by the mud caking his armor. It was a wonder this scarecrow had ever walked amongst his students, talking and eating as though there was a purpose to it all.

"Astonishing, is it not?"

When Byleth glances back toward Gilbert he found the tables had turned. Now the older knight had his wizened, tired blue eyes boring into the former mercenary's soul, trying to extract all of his feelings.

"The Church of Seiros had thought Dimitri our best option to turn the tide and push back against the Empire. But the boy merely fluctuates between grinding his foes into powder and himself blowing away like sawdust in the breeze." Each of Gilbert's words was delivered slower than the last. Byleth could tell he was trying to make sure each expression encapsulated his thoughts.

"Astute use of woodworking wordplay hasn't grown tiresome in all these years I take it?"

At first it seems Gilbert takes Byleth's dig with joyless indifference, but he soon cracks a smile.

"Once a hobbyist," he replies through a chortle. Then, the man brushes back some of his greying orange locks before continuing the old train of thought.

"All I mean to say is I understand what you must be imagining, Professor. I helped raise Dimitri, and it's hard to picture that young boy would one day fall into this pit of despair." Gilbert closes his eyes again and exhales through his nose, a haggard sound. "Losing Dedue must have been quite the blow."

Byleth nods.

"On us all," he says as straight as possible to hold in his own throngs of pain. "But for Dimitri, it was the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back."

"Indeed."

Gilbert pats Byleth on the shoulder before gripping it. Byleth could not tell whether this was a platonic gesture or a paternal one, but either way he felt its comfort.

"I just wish we would have known back then."

Both Byleth and Gilbert look to the pew across the aisle from where they stood, where Ashe sat with his arms between his legs and his head nearly as low. The archer's energy was downtrodden as he stared at his twiddling fingers.

"Goddess knows I would have done everything in my power to try and mend His Highness' heart." Ashe swallows his words, sounding on the verge of tears.

"The sentiment is appreciated, Ashe." Gilbert's lips tweak into a smile, and then just as quickly falter. "But there are some wounds that simply do not heal, no matter how much we would like them to."

Ashe's breath hitches.

"I know…"

"The important thing is, you and your friends are here to help where you can."

The old knight turns and walks over to join Ashe in the rightmost pew. Even before Gilbert began to rub the archer's back, Byleth could see how close the two had become with the onset of the war.

"That goes double for you, Felix." Gilbert glances to the back, where the heir to the Dukedom of Fraldarius leans against the wall beside the cathedral's closed double doors. "I know you've been watching over His Highness since we arrived."

Felix offers Gilbert one of his patented venomous glares before looking away with an apathetic scoff.

"Don't misconstrue. I'm here to make sure you aren't maimed by the beast, old man."

Gilbert breathes a quick laugh. "As you were, then."

Just as the massive room settles into silence once more, the doors at the back begin to slowly creak open. Ashe jumps to attention and prepares his bow. Felix, too, steps aside and draws his blade, holding it up by his head with both hands. Even Byleth cautions his grasp around the hilt of his sword; on the off chance this unexpected visitor was hostile.

Once the doors are wide enough, Felix steps into the beam of light the opening casts and holds the tip of his weapon to a woman's neck.

She gasps and holds still, both hands gripping the light blue fabric of her dress that was exposed under the veil that stretched around her shoulders.

"Well," Marianne says softly. After swallowing a lump past the sword pointed at her throat, she offers a thin-lipped smile. "Quite the welcoming party."

From afar, Ashe gasps and Gilbert rises from his seat. Only the Prince is indifferent to the girl's presence, silhouetted against the mid-day light as though she had descended from the Goddess' side.

Felix squints as he pulls back his sword and slides it into its scabbard.

"I'll be damned," he scoffs. "Look what the cats dragged in."

"It's a pleasure to see you too, Felix."

The blue-haired maiden curtsies out the left side of her floor-length dress and offers Felix her other hand. He takes it, though as they shake his sharp orange eyes are laser-focused on the top of her head.

"You keep your hair up now," he says while taking his hand back and bending it against his hip.

"Not unlike yourself."

The reply was quick and confident. Clearly Felix notices, and he smirks.

"Well, it suits you."

Marianne smiles, and has to restrain herself by pulling her folded hands closer to her body.

"I think so too."

At that point, Ashe had just enough time to reach the back of the cathedral, where he embraces the Golden Deer's former cleric. It doesn't take her long to move past the shellshock and hug him.

"It's been too long, Marianne." Ashe pulls his head back enough to beam at her without losing his grip.

"Yes, yes." she replies while tilting her head ever so slightly to the side, cheeks flushing as the overabundance of contact still seemed a bit much for her. "Hopefully I'm not quite as ghastly as the last time we ran into each other here."

Ashe steps away and rubs his neck, playing off that comment with a nervous laugh.

"It was late that night is all. Otherwise I would not have been so… Surprised."

Byleth stops behind Ashe and crosses his arms. All three of the former students turn to face him.

"Is this a story I should be aware of?" The man asks, his grassy-green hair iridescent in the light.

Marianne smiles up at him, and he can't help but smile back.

"Perhaps some other time, Professor." That confidence melts away in an instant as she peers downward, second-guessing her words. "Erm. If I can still call you that."

"You wouldn't be the only one."

She looks up to find his smile remaining, which picks up her spirits.

"It is so wonderful to hear your voice again. I knew my prayers to the Goddess had not gone unanswered."

Byleth nods. Nothing warmed his unbeating heart more than knowing time had been kind to Marianne, perhaps more than any of his former students. Everyone in the room could see the way she carried herself, actively striving to join conversations rather than circumnavigate them. Her cheeks were fuller and rosier, so he knew she had come to take better care of herself too. Perhaps the days of watching the girl skip meals by pushing food around on her plate to make it look emptier had passed in the last five years.

But before the happy reunion can go on, he notices Marianne trying to crane her neck ever so slightly to see around him. He knew what this was about, but didn't have to bring it up before she did on her own.

"I was told I could find Dimitri here," she says. His name came with a slight hesitation, as if she had to force it out. "He was the one that… Invited me."

Byleth's smile fades into his usual stone-faced expression as he steps aside. Marianne can see the Prince out in the center of the room, past Gilbert. He hadn't moved.

The blue-haired girl only gets a step closer to the comatose Prince before she's stopped by Felix's hand blocking her way. She looks to him with surprise.

"You'd do best to stay away from him," Felix says.

Marianne stares at him for a moment, her greyish eyes darting all over his face to try and glean any hint of whatever he was trying to put across.

"I feel as though we've had this conversation before, Felix." She hastens to offer him a halfhearted smile, hoping she was in on the joke. "Regarding who I choose to fraternize with."

Rather than growing angry, as he was known to do, Felix closes his eyes and pulls his hand back, crossing both arms over his chest. When he opens his eyes again they were cast toward Dimitri.

"I mean it this time." There's a momentary forlorn sadness to his gaze, but it shifts into a snarl. "The man you once knew is dead and gone. Only the Boar Prince remains, and he will not hesitate to tear you asunder."

"Felix!"

Ashe tries to push the raven-haired boy away, only to back off when he receives a deathly glare in return.

"This is Marianne we're talking about," the archer says while gesturing to her. "Dimitri would never."

Marianne looks between the two boys a few times, her energy deflating. She looks to Dimitri in the distance, so close and yet so far. Could he really be gone?

"Unfortunately, I have to side with Felix on this one." Byleth steps between the surprised noble and the Prince. "Given what we've seen of him, I have no idea how Dimitri is fit to act in any given situation. It would be best for you to keep a safe distance until it's clear he is amicable to your presence."

The girl's eyes start to well with tears as she meets Byleth's gaze, knowing he was serious. She looks away to steady her emotions before her eyes entirely glass over.

"I see," she mumbles.

After clearing her throat, Marianne puffs out her chest and looks up at Byleth again. "I would still like to join your cause, if you would have me."

Felix and Ashe look to each other as Byleth breaks another smile.

"As though you think we could bear to turn you away, Marianne."

She pulls him into a hug, and they embrace for a long while. Eventually, she opens her eyes and stares off at the mop of blond hair in the distance over the Professor's shoulder. Before she can feel her heart shatter, Byleth mends it with a careful whisper.

"I'm sure one day you'll be able to tell him what you need to."


	40. Reconstruction

**Part 2 — Guardian Moon**

_As the Ethereal Moon gives way to the Guardian Moon, bringing with it the slow march towards temperate weather, hope for victory against the Adrestian Empire by the reunited Blue Lions begins to bloom. The teachers and administrators of the Officers Academy return at the behest of Gilbert, all but Shamir and Archbishop Rhea — the latter missing since the invasion five years prior._

_ Despite concerns about long-term security and the biting cynicism of Dimitri, Annette and Sylvain spearhead an effort to revitalize the old Monastery grounds. With a more permanent base, morale amongst the burgeoning army would be restored, they hoped. All the Church of Seiros' war funds begin to pour into this effort, leading to a steady stream of supplies, mercenaries, and freedom fighters coming in from nearby towns. Though everyone is aware of the looming shadow cast by Emperor Edelgard's army, some days begin to pass with an almost nostalgic, carefree air for most within Garreg Mach's walls._

* * *

Though he had no academic duties to attend to, Byleth still found himself waking up early most mornings. To satiate that itch, he took to working on plans for continued training that some of his former students had requested, as well as contingency strategies the army could use to defend Garreg Mach. He was actually quite interested to bring one new idea for a firebomb trap to Gilbert and Seteth during their next meeting.

That busywork kept Byleth occupied into the early afternoon some days, and today was no different. As he exits his dormitory, the same room he slept in five years prior — closest to the Sauna and Training Grounds, he finds a wealth of faces out and about working on the reconstruction project that left portions of the Monastery covered in scaffolding.

As he readjusts his cape-like jacket from the entryway to his room, a shadow passes overhead. Byleth looks up to find Ingrid's Pegasus fluttering along the edge of the adjacent roof. The blonde knight holds a bucket an arm's length away from the right side of her unarmored steed, letting dull, grey cement drip down the side and into the line of trees and grass below.

She catches a glimpse of Byleth from the corner of her vision and looks down to offer him a smile. He waves back.

"Up and at 'em, Professor?" She calls down, speaking over flapping wings.

"Flayn is working on revitalizing the Greenhouse." The Professor walks out from under the awning above the dorms and careens down the small wooden staircase to ground level. His gaze is locked on Ingrid the whole time. "She requested some assistance this afternoon."

"How fun," she giggles as she brushes back her bangs with her free hand. "Be sure to tell her I say 'hi.'"

"Of course." Byleth nods with his response.

Soon after, the shining white knight Alois calls to Ingrid from the top of some scaffolding near the door to the Training Grounds.

"Ah, afraid that's me," she says to Byleth while turning her Pegasus in mid-air. "I'll talk to you later, Professor!"

Byleth waves her off as she crosses the gap to bring Alois the supplies he needs to finish rebricking a missing chunk of the wall.

At that, the man with the mint-colored hair starts to make his way south towards the Greenhouse. This journey was second nature after months of repeating it in what felt like weeks, though the sights had changed quite a bit. Not only was the general architecture of the monastery dingy and worn down, with weeds breaking into every stretch of stone alongside overgrown patches of grass, but there was also nary a student to be found. Those youthful, eager faces fresh out of a course on magic with Professor Hanneman or racing to the now-woefully under-stocked Dining Hall had been replaced by war-weary soldiers and merchants. Some were still chipper, carrying boards under their arms or paint to some wayward end of the grounds. Others had clearly suffered the slings and arrows of the last five years and were desperate to see it through to the end. Byleth noted that particularly in the eyes of one man he passed missing his left arm.

As the former Professor makes it to the middle level of the monastery grounds, his legs — as if of their own accord — turn away from the Greenhouse up ahead to hone in on a particular dorm. By the time he shakes himself free of the mindless trance he was walking in, he was standing at the door to Bernadetta's old room with his fist raised, ready to knock.

Were he an emotional man, Byleth may have blushed at the thought of how pathetic he must have looked to anyone walking along the adjacent path, still clinging to ghosts that only he still felt were fresh.

"Old habits die hard," he mutters before rapping his knuckles against the door three times.

Byleth begins to make his way toward the Greenhouse again, but freezes at the sound of rusty hinges squeaking open behind him. Hairs stood up on the back of his neck.

He doesn't move, and it takes a good minute before anything else comes of it.

"Professor?"

The voice was slight and cautious, more than recognizable — even if it had lost that squeaky, adolescent fear.

He slowly backs up until he could see through the ajar portion of the door. A frowning purple-haired girl on the other end smiles and opens it wider so he can get a better look.

"Bernadetta?" Byleth remarks with the slightest tilt of his head, as if making sure he wasn't imagining things. The amount of times she opened up to anyone was easy to count on one hand.

Of everyone he had met so far, it seemed as though the timid archer had changed the least in terms of her overall reclusive demeanor. However, she was clearly doing everything in her power to try and convince the world (or herself) otherwise. Her messy bedhead was gone, replaced by a presentable half-bowl cut of perfectly straightened hair that stretched down more in the back. She wore accessories, namely a hairpin and earrings, while the purple-and-gold outfit she adorned showed off a fair bit more skin than the old school uniform she had bulked up by wearing a blue hoodie underneath.

"I-In the flesh." She stutters out, voice squeaking slightly. It wasn't totally gone. However, she quickly clears her throat and looks down to compose herself before trying to catch Byleth's eyes again.

"Hi."

"Hey," he responds with a slight smile as he crosses his arms and leans against the open end of the doorway to peek over her. Somehow, the abandoned room was less messy than he remembered it to be back when she was a full-time resident. "Glad to see you could make it."

She nods, rolling her head around a bit to keep her eyes off him until her giddy little smile subsides.

"Sylvain told me you all would be meeting here after that incident in the Holy Tomb." She crosses her arms over her chest, briefly shaken by the memory of Dimitri's rage. "He said I'd be welcome if things got too shady in Adrestia… So when we heard there was activity around here, it only made sense."

"We?" Byleth moves off the doorframe, and lets his arms fall back to his sides.

"Ah!" She gasps out, before nodding. "R-Right! Uh. Caspar and Lindhardt are also here. We came together. Arrived last night, didn't want to disturb anyone."

Byleth was happy to hear that, but it also made his heart sink the longer he mulled it over.

"Things are that bad in the Empire?"

Bernadetta nods and then stares at her feet.

"If you ask anyone, E-Edelgard has made everything great." She swallows back her nerves. "But they'll always check over their shoulder to make sure a guard heard them say it."

The Professor reaches out and clasps her shoulder, which causes the skittish girl to yelp and tense up. She quickly relaxes into it, though.

"Well you're safe here with us, I can assure you of that."

Byleth knew he was lying through his teeth, and Bernadetta did too. Still, she seemed happy to go along with it.

"While you're here, Professor…" She begins, trailing off to let him respond.

When he doesn't, she waits a little too long to pick up that his silence was an invitation to continue, and sounds more flustered.

"I-If you run into Sylvain, could you ask him to return _that thing_ for me?"

Byleth raises an eyebrow and steps back, crossing his arms again.

"I might need a little more guidance than that Bernadetta, especially if this was from five years ago."

She groans for a long time before giving in, knowing Byleth would never. "He… Borrowed an old draft of a manuscript before the war broke out. If he kept it… Goddess, I can't begin to imagine the kind of cringe-inducing dribble I wrote when I was 17."

Only letting a single amused breath escape his nose, Byleth nods. "I'll be sure to ask him."

"Thank you," she mouths with a sugary smile.

As Byleth turns to go on his way, he keeps his gaze on the archer and raises a palm to the sky inquisitively.

"I quite like this more confident Bernadetta, I must say."

The girl spends a brief moment in reverie over that comment before her eyes shoot open in fear. She slams the door in his face, sending him stumbling back.

"I'm really not," she cries out through the door. "Don't think you can rely on me any more than you used to or anything!"

Chuckling, he heads off to the Greenhouse once more.

"Of course, I wouldn't dream of it."

From inside her room, Bernadetta sighs in relief as she slides down the door, plopping in front of it with a huff. Then, she hugs her legs to her chest, smiling more than she had in years.


	41. Birds of a Feather

_**Before I get into this chapter, I wanted to offer a fair warning that this is where I'll be starting to throw in more mature "romantic" themes. This isn't an inherently smutty story so I won't be leaning into it often, but I figure I should indicate the demarcation. **_

_**For anyone who does prefer that heavier content, this chapter takes inspiration from the story "Let Me Steal This Moment From You Now" by seasaltmemories [ID: 6074947]. That piece is much more NSFW comparatively, and I'm remixing some of its ideas.**_

_**So without further adieu, something a little different:**_

* * *

**Part 2 — Guardian Moon**

_To the south of Fódlan, even the dead of winter had not put the great city of Enbarr into hibernation. Since Edelgard took the throne five years prior, those who called the capital their home found life sweeter than ever. The arts flourished under the Flame Emperor's rule, and they were more accessible to all. In fact, the haves and have-nots were beginning to seem one and the same as the young Empress was determined to make Enbarr a shining example of the egalitarian values she aimed to spread._

_ It made no difference how many Adrestian soldiers needed to throw their lives away in the name of peace; or how many detractors — noble and common alike — disappeared without a trace. Enbarr was still revered for its historic splendor, its impregnable rule in the face of adversity, and its majestic Mittelfronk Opera Company. Edelgard intended to keep it this way._

* * *

Dorothea violently claws her left hand into the protruding desk of the wall vanity behind her as she leans the exposed small of her back into it, deepening the red crease on her pale skin. The songstress struggles to catch her breath between shuddering gasps. Her eyes are screwed shut as her head rocks back and forth along her neckline with each unsteady gyration of her hips.

She picks her black boots off the ground and rests them on the back of the figure who had their head and hands under the waves of maroon fabric making up her floor-length evening gown. This other woman's coos mix with Dorothea's groans in the otherwise empty, opulent dressing room.

"Edie…" Dorothea whimpers through clenched teeth as her free hand finds the top of her lover's head from atop her frilly outfit.

The girl's sprawling brunette hair starts sweeping across the top of the vanity like a paintbrush, her movements growing more erratic. Her breath hitches with each jolt of pleasure that runs up her spine whenever Edelgard's tongue prods just the right spot, and the dance of sensations tingling her skin like lightning was dictated by each careless swipe of that calloused thumb across her most sensitive bit.

Just as Dorothea's feet had situated themselves, her legs slide down Edelgard's back with an intense shudder. She hooks them around the other girl's head and squeezes, trying to keep herself grounded by straining her muscles.

"Edelgard," she manages again, weakly through her trembling lips. That name passes her tongue over and over again, but hardly ever become audible through her increasingly loud whimpers.

Dorothea pulls her left hand off the vanity before finding out whether the wood or her fingers would snap first, and throws her upper body forward so she could curl into herself. Both hands now gripped the bulge of fabric that was Edelgard's head between her legs, and her hair flops messily in her face to partially obscure her ecstasy.

Edelgard could feel everything tighten around her, and Dorothea squeals loud enough that the mirror nearly shatters behind her. It takes a moment for the songstress' body to ease its uncontrollable tremors, but as soon as she was free from the vice grip she slips out from under Dorothea's cavernous dress.

She smiles at her handiwork.

Rather than the bulky scarlet garb she wore on the throne and the battlefield, Edelgard was in a pleated black midi dress that sparkled with golden accents toward the bottom, each of which flared upward like ruffled feathers. She brushes her free, long ivory hair back behind her ears as she rises back up onto her six-inch heels.

"Just look at this mess you've made, Dorothea." The Empress teases as she walks around the bench where her lover sprawled out limp, back against the vanity. She gets a hand towel off the desk and wipes running makeup off her cheeks. As she does, Dorothea rolls her emerald eyes toward the other woman.

"What can I say?" She offers in a quiet, breathy tone before clearing her throat so she can project more. "I've always had a flair for the dramatic."

Edelgard looks over to find Dorothea with a goofy little smile as she puffs up the hair around her rightmost teardrop earring. The two girls laugh together, and then Dorothea slides over to give Edelgard room to sit.

Once she takes the offer, Dorothea whirls around so the two are both facing the mirror. She gingerly wraps her arms around the other girl's waist and leans her cheek on the fine, black fabric over her shoulder.

Dorothea's breath was still labored. She took four-second breaths in and two-second breaths out, over and over. Edelgard counted each second. Each heartbeat.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to the idea of the Adrestian Empress getting on her knees for a lowly opera singer," Dorothea remarks with a giggle.

As Edelgard sets her black-and-red stained towel aside, she looks less amused.

"Come now Dorothea, we've talked about this." Her tone was soft, but authoritative. "When it's just us, none of that matters. I'm yours, and you are mine."

"Mmm." The songstress closes her eyes with a smile, letting the thought wash over her. She frees Edelgard enough to entrap the girl in a cute, chaste kiss.

"Still," she mumbles against her lips before shifting back again so the white-haired girl can re-apply her eyeliner and rouge. The Mittelfronk staff now stocked Dorothea's dressing room with the Empress' preferred cosmetics, and had learned not to ask questions. "There must be something I can do to return the favor now!"

"We wouldn't want to hold up the second act, people would get suspicious." Edelgard smirks, but keeps her lavender eyes locked on the mirror. "Besides, I think you've done enough damage as is, regardless of how I feel about this dress."

Dorothea combs her hair back, and starts to touch up her own make-up. "I think it looks great on you, Edie."

"Really?" Edelgard shrugs. "I suppose I won't have to behead the advisor who said I should 'dress up' for the occasion, then."

"Edie!" Dorothea scoffs and playfully bumps into the other girl's shoulder.

"I'm just saying!" Edelgard pushes back, her speech half-encumbered by a laugh. "Seems it would be a fine endorsement for the Empress to arrive regardless."

Dorothea pulls her hair back a few more times before setting the brush down.

"Why did you decide to come out tonight, anyway? You've seen me practice a dozen times over, and as much as I appreciate the support I imagine there are much more important things you could be doing."

After a long moment with no answer, Dorothea finds Edelgard staring wistfully into the mirror as she pickers her lips to spread a coat of coral lipstick.

"Hey…" She reaches out; resting her hand on the back of Edelgard's to keep it pinned to the vanity. "What's wrong?"

"I was hoping not to bother you with this," Edelgard pushes both hands into the desk so she can stand up. "But you have a very important benefactor tonight."

Dorothea stares up at the ivory-haired woman and takes in every inch of her face under the glaring lights that reflected off the marble pillars around the room. As strong and imposing as Edelgard was leading councils or battalions, she had never quite grown out of being sickly. She had a fit figure underneath the bulky armor she often adorned, but one that bordered on being emaciated. Dorothea was typically one of the few who ever saw her with her hair down — literally and figuratively — so it was telling how much more exhausted she looked in this theatre attire.

"I see," Dorothea mumbles.

"Some of our former classmates slipped out of Enbarr, and our intelligence points to them seeking that traitorous Church faction." Edelgard walks away from the mirror and picks up a pair of black gloves strewn across a nearby drawer. "We believe this person may have helped them go undetected. The Count of Bergliez would prefer to not go to war with his own son, if we can avoid it."

"Caspar?" Dorothea bites her lip as she turns back toward the mirror. In it, she watches Edelgard re-cover her hands. "That would be tragic."

The songstress takes a few deep breaths as she catches her own emerald eyes. She presses a hand to her right cheek and easily pushes into the flesh. Many had praised her graceful blossoming into maturity over the years, but whenever the subject of war arose all she could see was how lazy and complacent she had gotten since the Academy.

"Is there… Anything I can do to help?" She asks, begrudgingly.

Edelgard approaches and rests a hand gently on Dorothea's exposed shoulder.

"I suppose." She offers a warm smile to the mirror. "If he were to receive an invitation to meet a star performer after the show, it would be easier to corner him."

Dorothea swallows hard; Edelgard continues. "Only if you would be willing."

"I think I've done worse." The brunette turns around to face her lover. "I would be happy to help where I can. Especially if it takes some of the pressure off you."

Edelgard's smile grows, and Dorothea forces one to her lips.

"It would be demonstrably helpful." She gives Dorothea a kiss on the cheek.

When Edelgard makes her way back to the middle of the wood-paneled dressing room to pick up a haphazardly discarded off-the-shoulder coat, the one touch of scarlet on her black ensemble, Dorothea tries to finish her make-up with an unsteady hand.

"Don't worry, I'll set everything up. All you have to do is sit back and be perfect, as always." The Empress chuckles as her heels clomp with every step until she reaches the door. She looks back. "I really appreciate it."

Dorothea waves off the comment. "Like I said, I'm happy to help."

Edelgard nods. "I'll see you after the second half then. Break a leg, love."

She blows her one last kiss before opening the door, letting in the distant hum of a chattering crowd and warming violins.

Then Dorothea is secluded in silence. She offers a bone-weary sigh to the mirror. After that, she pats her left, and then her right cheek a few times to work herself up to the idea. The poor commoner had been willing to do a lot to stay alive when she was younger, but now that she was more settled into a comfortable life it became harder to work up that confidence.

But she dearly loved Edelgard. It seemed this was just the life of a confidante.

"Back into espionage, hm?"

Dorothea screams at the haughty voice suddenly breaking into her personal space. She grabs a brush off the vanity and turns prepared to bean the intruder with it. However, she freezes when she sees Hubert standing just on the edge of a shadow cast upon the light-leeching wood from one of the far wall's marble pillars. He was completely unfazed, staring emotionless with just one eye not covered by oily slicks of dark hair.

"Hubie." Breathing heavily, Dorothea turns around again to set her brush down. "You scared me half to death. Now I'll never get my heart rate down before the show."

The man slowly steps out from his shroud of darkness. Between the almost completely black imperial uniform he wore and his floor-length cape with a popped collar, it was easy to see how he had hidden away for so long in spite of his sharp, boney face, nearly as pale as his white gloves.

It takes a moment for things to dawn on Dorothea, at which point she turns back toward him and stands.

"Just how long have you been there exactly?!"

His lips curl into a sinister little smile. "Long enough."

However, he just as soon lets a dour air take over his face again as he sweeps across the room to meet her.

"I must say, I agree with your assessment of this whole… Arrangement." He folds his arms behind his back, and stops only when they are face to face. "It's disgusting to see Her Majesty stoop so low as to be with one of such common descent."

Dorothea sneers at him, and then turns to look at herself in the mirror. This was still no escape; he towered over her in the reflection.

"You haven't changed one bit since we were kids, Hubie."

"Not at all?" He asks with a pointed tone while leaning in to try and draw her ire. It worked.

"I guess that's not true. You're a hell of a lot more willing to be a prick out loud than you used to be."

He shrugs and walks out of Dorothea's frame in the mirror, but keeps his glaring eye on her through the reflection.

"I'm quite alright with that," he says arrogantly. "At least it takes more than a quick screw to have me be an excellent spy for the Black Eagles Strike Force."

Dorothea snarls and picks up the brush again, this time actually chucking it at him. He easily dodges, letting it dent the wall.

"I'm not sure what to yell about first, you insulting my worth or turning a war with our friends into some idiotic game with codenames."

"Your friends." He brings up his right hand, faux checking his fingernails through his glove. "I never particularly liked any of them, and Lady Edelgard was not much more attached from what I understand."

"Why do you insist on lying to yourself, Hubie?" Dorothea crosses her arms and plops back down onto the vanity's bench. "Is it truly easier to say you do everything in Edie's best interest than it is to just admit you hate how she likes others more than you?"

"And you say I haven't grown up," he mutters with a nasally scoff.

As Hubert turns to make his way toward the door, he flairs out his cape.

"It means nothing how Lady Edelgard feels about me, so long as her will is spread across Fódlan as she desires." He pauses with his hand on the knob. "If you still wish to squabble over pitiful emotions, perhaps you aren't as deserving to be a part of that vision as she believes."

He opens the door and walks out, calling back over his shoulder. "You won't have to watch the scoundrel for long, I know how weak a constitution you have for blood."

Dorothea growls and picks a small bottle of perfume off the desk, tossing it at him. The door was closed by the time it got there, so the bottle explodes into a sparkling cloud of glass and pungent liquid.

"Nasty cuckold!" She screams before settling back, panting hard.

She hides her face in her hands as anger sinks into a pit of anguish deep in her gut. Dorothea resists the urge to cry, and goes back to fixing her make-up in the mirror.

After all, the show must go on.


	42. Ghosts and Deities

**Part 2 — Guardian Moon**

_As days go by, the steady steam of visitors to Garreg Mach begins to slow, but it's a mostly unnoticed change to the Monastery's residents. Former students and mercenaries alike were wrapped up in their daily activities and gradual reconstruction efforts. At times it was difficult to remember that any sort of threat was looming in the farthest reaches of Fódlan. Perhaps their more stagnant population should have been a sign for what is to come._

* * *

Marianne leans into the void, nose in her clasped hands and elbows in her lap. She feels a shiver tingle up her back. For a brief moment, she tricks herself into believing this was a sign the Goddess was validating her devotion. Then she leans back into the cathedral's pew and opens her eyes, reminding herself of that damned hole in the ceiling. No wonder it was so chilly.

Just as the dread of isolation begins to creep down her neck, the blue-haired girl's attention focuses on the only other person in the room: Dimitri.

The once spry heir to the throne of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, now perpetually lost in the recesses of his mind. More often than not he stood in the same spot, muttering to himself. Moments of clarity were few and far between, and even then they were mostly spent pushing away everyone who cared.

At least his cloak looked nice and warm, despite its grimy veneer.

"Any chance you'd be willing to share that cloak, Dimitri?" Marianne's voice echoes in the large chamber, though she tried to downplay her desperation to work something — anything — out of him.

Silence.

"I suppose not."

The soft-spoken girl smoothed out the wrinkles around the knees of her blue dress before standing. She hesitantly approaches the brutish statue of a man, focused on his head of knotted yellow vines that give way to that unblemished eye, forever haunted and distant.

Only when she ventures to stand directly beside him does Dimitri's eye dart in her direction, ever so briefly. She took that as a sign to come no further.

"Do you pray, Dimitri?"

More silence.

Marianne glances up at the Prince.

"I can't imagine what else you must be doing while standing here, day after day." She smiles. "I hope she listens do you more than she does me."

Dimitri's breathing is heavy and labored. Marianne's smile fades, and she moves her gaze back to the pile of rubble before them.

"I used to hate it here," she continues with her eyes closed. Any attempt at sounding cheery had washed away. "The whole Officers Academy, to an extent. But mostly the cathedral."

She pauses, hoping for some acknowledgement. Echoes of cold peaches rot her taste buds with bittersweet memories.

"All I ever wanted was to hear Her voice, or see some flash of that fabled green hair. Something to tell me I was on the right path — though at the time, all I could imagine was cosmic retribution for straying too far from it. Or being struck down as some anomaly, just a hitch in someone else's road." She huffs a dispirited chuckle out her nose. "I hated the constant gaggle of people moving in and out of this place. They were a distraction, especially when it was one of our classmates trying to chat. I couldn't help but wonder why they wanted to talk to this living nuisance."

Marianne sniffles, rolling her head to the left so she could keep the tear blurring her right eye to its duct. "I would give anything to have those days back. To chat with Ignatz about his latest painting, or ask Mercedes how she kept her hair so shiny, or even let Linhardt bug me about some rumor he heard from Professor Hanneman."

She levels her head, and then bores her vision into Dimitri's side. "They were the sign. They just weren't as easy to understand as the horses."

Dimitri closes his eye. Marianne is surprised for a moment, and instinctively reaches out her hand. She stops before her fingertips brush against his black vambraces. She clutches her fist and brings it back to her bosom, afraid to provoke him.

"I hope the silence is more peaceful to you than it is to me," she says hoarsely.

Her footsteps rebound through the chamber as she hurriedly walks toward the exit, doing everything in her power not to look as pathetic as she felt scampering away.

"… Wrong."

Marianne freezes at the sound of Dimitri's burgeoning, gruff voice. She pulls her step back and glances over her shoulder.

"Pardon?"

"The only voices I hear are ghosts, not deities." Dimitri's gravely voice grates her ears. He's more grounded than usual, but his presence is no less ghastly. He glances back at her, but only with his eyepatch — itself barely visible behind a curtain of blonde hair.

Marianne swallows hard. "Ghosts?"

"I am the speaker for the dead," he utters in a sinister trance. "Every rat I slaughter adds to my conclave, and they demand yet more. Perhaps once I've taken her head, there will be peace. Peace in the land. Peace in my mind. As I've always wanted."

He turns back to the pile, and Marianne can practically hear his neck creak with the strain. "Maybe then I will deserve their forgiveness."

The Alliance maiden is awestruck watching Dimitri revert to stone under the column of light. When it becomes evident his conversation has run dry, she continues her arduous journey to the exit.

After pushing the double doors enough to slip outside, Marianne finds a redheaded knight in dark armor kicking back against one wall of the great bridge. He stares up at meandering clouds, collar of maroon fuzz around the rim of his armor brushing against his neck.

"Sylvain?"

He looks to Marianne and sharply grins. "In the flesh."

"But I thought…"

"Felix was here?" Sylvain cuts her off, and then pauses with a brief grunt as he clambers to his feet in the somewhat awkward suit. "He was, but now he's off getting some food. Hopefully."

Marianne teases her blue bangs as she makes her way to the base of the stairs. "Hopefully?"

"Who knows what he decided to actually do." Sylvain shrugs, and then runs his hands behind his neck. "But I told him if he's going to spend all this time watching over his Highness, he should take care of himself too."

The girl giggles and twiddles her fingers daintily before her waist.

"That's awfully kind of you, Sylvain. I'm sure he appreciates it."

Sylvain rolls his eyes. "I'll take your word for it."

They let the breeze pass over their unspoken dialogue. Sylvain can see Marianne's energy fading, and figures guard duty can wait. He turns to the Monastery proper like a toy soldier and holds out his right arm, offering her an escort.

The redhead only has to suggestively gesture for a moment before Marianne breaks, and hook their arms with a reserved smile.

"How is your wound healing?" Marianne asks as she juts her head forward to see.

Sylvain proudly stretches his neck to point out the scar.

"Honestly, Mercie has magic hands. It's better than ever." He grins. "I'm starting to think I should get hurt more often if it means she'll be patching me up!"

The girl giggles, shaking her head. "I'm not sure she would like that quite as much as you, Sylvain."

"I don't know," he laughs. "I've been told I make for good company when you have literally nowhere else to go because you're performing a healing regiment."

As the future Margrave's laugh dissipates, his expression also turns more serious.

"How is he back there?" Sylvain asks, shifting his tone to match the new topic. They march past missing chunks of wall that once held a pattern of banners inviting guests to their place of worship.

"I don't have the faintest idea how to answer that question." Marianne sighs. "It's like I can sense him, but he's buried underneath so much armor — literal and figurative."

The male knight nods, thinking it over and clicking his tongue a few times.

"Know what you mean. It's hard, when all you really get to see is the 'Boar Prince,' as if that's all he's ever been."

"Must we call him that?" Marianne says with a bit of a droning whine as she looks to Sylvain. He shakes his head.

"I don't want to give Felix credit as much as the next guy, but he's not entirely wrong." The redhead rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. "You should have been there when we first found him. The way he fights with such disregard for life, especially his own… It's something else."

Marianne swallows hard and gazes down at her feet, barely kicking out from the base of her long dress.

When Sylvain sees the downer expression he brought about, he clears his throat. "I miss him too."

Marianne looks back up, curious.

"The old Dimitri," he continues. "Goddess knows he had the emotional intelligence of a stump half the time, but he made up for it when he needed to. Idealistic, strong, wise beyond his years…"

"Compassionate," Marianne finishes Sylvain's list for him. The two stop at the far end of the bridge as she unhooks their arms, that way they can face one another. "I think that's what hurts the most, seeing all his energy sapped away."

Sylvain's eyes dart all about her face. He was clearly stunned, even melancholic. Just when it appears he's about to say something, the knight looks off at the cathedral.

"He reprimanded me on this bridge once."

Marianne looks confused. She glances between Sylvain and that nebulous spot in the middle distance he was so drawn to. "Who, Dimitri?"

Sylvain nods. "Tried to convince me all the flirting I do was 'unbecoming' for a man with my position, or whatever. Talk about rich, coming from a guy who never understood his own feelings enough to reckon with them."

Marianne's eyes dilate, and her hands go clammy. She dries them on her dress. "What do you mean?" She manages to squeak out.

Sylvain's forlorn expression cracks with a slight wince; his lips tick into a grimace that immediately subsides. Then he returns her gaze, stoic.

"I'm not sure it's my place to say, Marianne."

She could appreciate his reservation, but it drove her up the wall. She wanted to scream at him, beg him to confirm the implication in his words that got her heart racing. Instead, she gives him a half-hearted bow. "I understand."

In the quiet moment that follows, the two become aware of an approaching sound: boots slamming against stone in a breakneck flurry. Before they can figure out it was coming from the direction of the graveyard, a figure races through the passage between there and the old classrooms.

Both Sylvain and Marianne stare at the space, finding a few other passersby just as bewildered. Sylvain scoffs.

"Wonder what that's about."


	43. A Sea of Green

On the second floor of the Reception Hall, down the opposite corridor from Garreg Mach's library, a small gathering room once used for private meetings with Archbishop Rhea had been retrofitted into a war room. The enclosed mossy-grey chamber survived the sacking of the Academy better than much of the campus; its most extensive damage being a few shattered mosaics overlooking the old classroom courtyard. Only one mosaic remained intact: The shining visage of a slight being with long, jade hair circumscribed by a golden ring depicting the 21 crests of Fódlan.

Pillars run along the north and south walls of the chamber, framing a rectangular mahogany table in the center with space for 18 people. The entire middle section was hollowed out, exposing a pair of dusty, maroon rugs underneath cackling chandeliers.

Three individuals with grassy-green hair take up half the spaces on the northern side of the table. Byleth sits closest to the door, leaning into the black cushioning of his ornate chair with a china teacup wafting its soothing heat against his lips. Flayn, dwarfed by her chair, pours a second cup from the set's kettle that was detailed with gold, floral patterns. She slides it to Seteth beside her, who is glaring at the door and tapping his foot.

"Please Brother, relax." The girl says as she gently places the kettle on its tray.

"I am plenty relaxed, Flayn." He all-but slams his hands on the edge of the table around the teacup, bringing its contents dangerously close to sloshing out on his paperwork. "I just find it awfully unprofessional for Gilbert to keep us waiting like this."

The administrator tries to get a better look out the door. He can see just a glimpse of Gilbert's greying orange hair in the hallway. "Wouldn't you agree, Byleth?"

Byleth is completely stone-faced as he contemplates this, staring absentmindedly down to the rug at his feet. He shrugs, closes his eyes, and takes a long sip of his tea.

Seteth scoffs and contemptuously reclines back. He briefly fiddles with the golden circlet on his forehead, making sure its ends remain buried beneath his wavy hair. Flayn slides the teacup closer to him.

"It was his daughter," Flayn offers him a smile while bobbing her drill-shaped ringlets back-and-forth. "Of course he took that personal meeting, Brother. You should know better than anyone."

The older man leers at her in his peripheral vision. Then he settles his hair more securely over his ears, the green waves frame his face.

"I suppose you're right, but that does not excuse their lack of brevity. It's like they think we have nothing better to do with the rest of our days." Seteth's academic snobbery shines through as he picks up his cup. "Annette could have waited as well. Pulling Gilbert away from a strategy meeting over something as ridiculous as a lost doll."

As he sips at the tea, Flayn gasps and rests her hands on the table, bristling.

"Brother!" She cries out before glancing at the door and lowering her voice. "You aren't eavesdropping, are you?"

"Don't misconstrue, my dear little sister." Seteth closes his eyes and sets the cup down. "It's hardly eavesdropping when the argument is loud enough to be heard from Almyra."

Byleth's silence falls apart as he huffs a restrained chuckle into his remaining tea. Seteth derives a fair amount of pleasure at this victory; a smirk curls at his lips while he strokes his goatee. Flayn looks between the two taller men with an exasperated sigh.

"You two are hopeless…"

The hushed sounds of conversation outside the room gives way to surprise as frantic footsteps echo through the hall and into the makeshift war room. All three of the green-haired individuals watch the door and wait. The sounds get louder.

From around the corner, Shamir bursts into the room — her raven hair disheveled and her outfit worse for the wear. She latches onto the doorframe to pull herself to a stop, and then uses it for balance.

"Seteth!"

As she looks into the chamber, two people look back with surprise. The third person, closest to her, seemed unfazed. Her eyes linger. "... Byleth?"

The Professor's cup clinks against its saucer. "I've gotten that reaction a lot lately. It's a pleasure to see you, Shamir."

It takes the purple-eyed woman a moment longer to adjust, but she nods. "I wish it were under better circumstances."

She pulls herself away from the door and approaches them, metal-tipped heels clopping against the stone floor. Gilbert and Annette follow her inside, but stand back to observe as Shamir rests her hands on the top rail of a chair at the table's head.

"Enbarr knows we're here," she bluntly proclaims.

Both Flayn and Annette gasp; Byleth and Gilbert glance at one another. Seteth pushes himself to his feet with both hands.

"Are you positive?"

"Beyond a shadow of a doubt." Shamir paces away from the chair, crossing her arms over her chest. "We were scouting the area and found an army amassing at the city gates. Managed to overhear a little, it seems certain individuals were not able to escape as quietly as they believed."

"A whole army?" Flayn remarks with a hoarse tone as she brings her hands to the top of her uniform, freeing them from the puffy arms of her dress. "Goodness…"

"We were discovered." Shamir swallows hard and looks to the floor. "Not all of us made it back. But even so, the Adrestian Empire should only be a day or two behind."

"My condolences," Gilbert mutters.

"I should help prepare!" Annette says with a rush of nervous energy as she makes for the exit. Byleth calls to the girl before she gets away.

"Gather a few magic users and meet me by the Greenhouse in an hour," the Professor instructs. "I have a special task for you, Annette."

He looks to Seteth, who acknowledges the thought.

The orange-haired girl perks up and nods eagerly. "Of course, Professor!"

The teal tail of Annette's mage robe trails behind as she leaves. Gilbert, much slower and more somber, follows after her.

"I'll ensure his Highness does not hear about this and run off to fight on his own."

Once Gilbert is gone, all attention turns to Seteth. He stands with a hand on his hip, stroking his beard. A ruffled brow emphasizes his perpetual scowl.

"Shamir." Though still weary from her journey, Shamir stands at attention — ready for anything. "Gather the faculty. If Byleth is serious about this little plan, it will require a coordinated effort."

The sniper salutes, and then strides back to the doorway more composed than when she arrived. Before making it all the way out, she lets her eyes catch Byleth's.

"It's good to see you too, Professor."

As Shamir leaves, Flayn turns in her seat to face Seteth directly, though her legs bump against the chair's arm. "What would you like us to do, Brother?"

He offers her no response. The young girl quickly gets uncomfortable at the pregnant pause, and clears her throat.

"Brother?"

Seteth begins to saunter behind the two, making his way to the door. His eyes are closed, and his arms are folded behind his back.

"I feel this crossroad is an apt time to be honest," he remarks with a deliberate slowness. "I've never been quite sure how much I can trust you..."

He stops and looks at Byleth over his shoulder. "Professor."

Flayn's forehead creases with worry. "I don't know how you could say—"

"Flayn, please." Seteth interrupts her, and the girl deflates. "Let me finish."

She nods. Byleth looks to her with concern before Seteth continues.

"I quickly came to find you were trustworthy at a personal level. Saving my dear sister from that horrid Death Knight taught me as much." He begins to walk again, letting his hands grasp idly behind his back while he thinks over his words. "But there were so many things I could not parse about your past. Even if you were a ward of the Church by the Archbishop's decree, it was hard not to be suspicious."

He stops near the door, framed by soft light from the other side, and turns to face Byleth. His expression is serious, practically dire.

"Rhea told me a lot before the Battle of Garreg Mach, five years ago. I learned just about everything." Byleth's eyes widen. "Enough so that I had the feeling we would see you again, despite your apparent demise."

"And here I am," Byleth confirms, sounding vexed.

"Indeed. Here you are." Seteth closes his eyes again. "Therefore I can tell you that my concerns, since almost the very beginning, have been baseless."

Byleth's whole demeanor shifts gears from being ready to counterattack, and he looks about as confused as Flayn.

"I'd like to apologize. You are a good man, Byleth Eisner. Even without the… Supplemental assistance." He turns around again. "I believe you will be a fine commander for not just the Knights of Seiros during this crusade, but for the entire Church in Rhea's absence."

The Professor glances at Flayn, who seems more assured as she grasps his arm.

"Should the Archbishop's trust in you prove to be misplaced, it is the faithful who will suffer most." Seteth continues. When Byleth looks to him, he finds the other man smiling over his shoulder. "I don't believe it has been. So, now seems the time I should pass along a certain… Family heirloom. A gift Rhea has left for you."

Seteth leaves the room, walking deliberately. He calls out so they could still hear. "Come along, would you Flayn? You've always had your mother's eye for accessories."

The girl's energy brightens at the compliment. She quickly scrambles to her feet and runs to catch up with Seteth.

Byleth lingers in his chair a moment longer, mulling over the last few minutes.

"Accessories?"

He stands, and has to shield his eyes as the mid-day glow burns the mosaic's pattern onto his skin.


End file.
